


Rare Meat

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Cannibal Cas, Cannibalism, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Immortality, M/M, Mortician Castiel, Romance, Science Fiction, Scientist Sam, Urban Magic AU, Weirdly Fluffy, Witch Jess, Writer Dean, but classy, dcbb2017, scientific experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean is normal. 100% perfectly ordinary. Except for one thing. He’s married to a cannibal who has a bad habit of leaving body parts around the house. Oh yeah, and his little brother, he’s a mad scientist who likes to combine animals and make fun new pets. His sister-in-law also tends to dabble a bit in a bit of black magic. And his parents might or might not be immortal vigilantes who wander around the country looking for trouble.But other than that, he’s normal. Or maybe not…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I'm so proud about being able to present this to you. I've been working on it since early summer and I can't believe it's finally finished. Yes, it's that weird cannibalism fic, but it's classy I promise and weirdly cute at times. This fic was inspired by binge watching Hannibal and reading the fluffiest Destiel fluff I could find. Somehow I ended up with this idea. But I really like it and I hope that you like it too.
> 
> Thank you to everyone whose supported me! To my betas, SennaFrost, who worked with me in the beginning of this story, and Melissa, who helped me finish. They were the sources for so many wonderful ideas and I can't be grateful enough.
> 
> Also thank you to GoodQuestion who did did the macabre art for this fic. I love her work and how she was totally down for drawing some blood. Her full master post is found here check it out! http://goodquestionharlie.tumblr.com/post/166597442958/title-rare-meat-author-salparadiselost-artist 
> 
> And thank you, for coming to take a chance on this fic. I hope you weirdoes enjoy it as much as me.

“Cas! I swear to god, this better not be a severed arm in the fridge!” Dean yelled, his words echoing through the house. All he wanted was a cold beer, was that so hard?

Apparently, it was, because when he had opened the refrigerator what he saw was a pale arm laid out on the top shelf, sitting there like that was the most natural, commonplace thing in the world.

“Oh shit,” Cas’ rumbly voice came from the top of the stairs and, within seconds, Dean saw his tousled head bouncing quickly down the steps. He practically sprinted through the house, until he suddenly skidded to a stop into front of a pissed off Dean. “I’m sorry, I love you, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t” Dean said as he grabbed the limb from the fridge and began to walk to the front door. “Because I’m going to go feed this to one of Sam’s weird ass dog things.”

“No, Dean, don’t!” Cas said as he followed after Dean, tugging on his shirt and eventually turning him around. “Please, I promise I’ll stop.”

Dammit, he had turned on the puppy eyes and they both knew that Dean couldn’t resist the puppy eyes. He tried to hold his ground, but he already felt his hard stance weakening and bending to Cas’ will. The other man’s eyes were drilling into him and, he swore those baby blues were staring into his soul and reading his thoughts. (Actually, with Cas’ lineage that might not be too far-fetched.)

Goddammit again, he was going to lose this battle, but if he was going down he was going to take the other man with him. He smirked and Cas crinkled his nose in confusion before suddenly, Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ hip. With a tug, he pulled the man to his chest, feeling Cas’ gasp against his ribs. Their eyes met, and all he could think about was how the hell someone even got eyes so gorgeous and how the hell did a guy like him ever manage to make the person behind those eyes his.

A chuckle shook through Cas and he leaned into Dean. He brought up an arm, snaking it under Dean’s shirt and playing with his waistband. His deft fingers brushed against the small of Dean’s back, making shivers run up his spine. And oh God, he loved when he did that. Then, Cas started peppering kisses up Dean’s neck and along his jawline and Dean was done. He melted, becoming putty under Cas’ nimble, gentle hands, and feeling warmth spread throughout his body. Then he moved and began to suck at Cas’ collarbone, nipping and biting in the way he knew Cas loved. The man gasped and Dean felt fingers grasped at his hair wantonly. He turned his head, purposefully dragging his cheek along Cas’ jaw and drawing a breathless moan. He nibbled at Cas’ ear and said “Who’s the best husband in the world?”

He felt the chuckle rather than heard it and Cas pulled away with a small smirk dancing on his lips. “Probably Neil Patrick Harris, but thank god I got stuck with you.” Cas said as he placed a kiss on Dean’s lips. Dean choked back a laugh and said “thank god I got stuck with you” before diving back in and deepening the kiss. Cas moaned against him, his fingers fisted the back of his shirt. Warmth and pleasure rushed through him and spread out to every part of his body. He could feel everything and nothing and his entire world was built on this one person. This one glorious and amazing person who he trusted to be his everything. Oh god, when did he start becoming someone who got lost in moments?

Someone who got so lost that they almost completely missed the sneaky little fingers that were steadily prying the severed arm from his left hand.

_That little shit._

He took a step back, and glared at Cas and his stupid face and his stupid blue eyes and his stupid kissable lips that were twisted up into another damn smirk. Manipulative bastard that he married. Why did he do these things to himself?

“I’m supposed to be mad at you.” He growled, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet. He tried to look as steadfast and manly as possible, even though he could hardly take his eyes off of Cas’ lips.

Cas just laughed and gave him a languid, toothy smile. He took a smooth step inwards with a predatory look in his eyes and suddenly Dean remembered that his husband was a cannibal. “And what are you going to do about it?” he said as he stalked forward, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. All at once, Dean felt less like a man and more like a stupidly impulsive mouse that had decided that it would be fun to smack a cat on the nose. 

“I’m going to stand here and refuse to be swayed by your sexual charms.” Dean said, looking Cas straight in the eye. _Stay strong, Dean Winchester, stay strong._

The other man paused in his advance and looked into Dean’s eyes with a frightening intensity that almost made him want to take a step back. They stood there for a few beats. Silence hung between them before Cas broke it with a hearty, full-body laugh. His predatory stance quickly washed away, and was replaced with affection.

He gave Dean a smile. Not the wicked wolf-like one from before, or even the smirks that he was so fond of. He gave Dean the smile that he had fallen for and, god, Dean loved his smile. He loved the way that his mouth moved to make the expression. He loved the way it made his eyes glitter. He loved the little crinkles that it formed and how perfect it made Cas look.

God, love was turning him into such a damn poet.

“Oh really?” Cas said with warmth filling his voice. “You think that you can resist me?”

“Yep” Dean said. He extended the word, popping his lips on the last letter.

“Then I must be losing my edge.”

Dean leaned in and gave Cas a gentle kiss. “Never, baby.”

He didn’t even know that Cas’ smile could get any wider, but it did and he replied with a kiss of his own. They stood there just kissing until he felt Cas trying to take the arm away from him again, but this time he let it go. Cas hummed against his lips and he took a step back, before giving another peck.

“Thank you, Dean” He said, then he turned and headed to the back of the house. As he walked away, the limp hand attached to the arm, bounced with each of his steps, almost like it was waving a gruesome goodbye. He went into the basement to his “kitchen” was and where he kept all the “meat” (Dean wasn’t even going to acknowledge how stereotypical it was). His husband’s lifestyle used to bother him a lot more, but now he was fine as long as random limbs didn’t end up touching his beer.

 Should that worry him?

Dean took a beer from the fridge and then noticed a curiously marked jar in the back. Please no. Please, please, don’t be what he thinks it is. He stared at the jar for another moment before his curiosity betrayed him and he found himself reaching in. He jostled the jar and, sure enough, two human eyeballs rolled around and looked at him.

What even is his life.

*****

It took almost three hours until Cas emerged from the basement covered in blood. He had on a long white coat similar to what doctors wore and looked like some kind of crazed surgeon.

“Shoes Cas,” Dean said from the couch. He had previously been watching some mindless television and nursing a beer. Really, he should be trying to think of what he was going to do with his next book, but writer’s block was hitting him hard so he was avoiding it as much as possible. If only he could ignore the way Naomi sent him passive aggressive reminders about his upcoming deadlines.

Cas grumbled and leaned down to take off his shoes. He left them on the first step of the basement’s staircase and entered the room in clean white socks. He walked through the kitchen and immediately went into the laundry room to discard the spoiled coat. In a few minutes, he emerged in clean clothes and plopped on the couch next to Dean.

“What are we watching?” he asked, putting his feet up on the coffee table next to Dean’s.

“Silence of the Lambs” Dean said.

Cas crinkled his nose and glared at the television like it personally offended him. “You know I hate this movie.”

“I put it on just for you, babe.”

Cas huffed in response and leaned against him. Dean chuckled and went back to watching as the TV cops rolled out the bound cannibal. To be honest, he hated this movie too. He didn’t have a problem with it before he met Cas, but once he did he could never watch it the same way. For him, it stopped being Hannibal Lector who was muzzled and put into a straight-jacket and started to become his husband, which was absolutely terrible to think about. He moved and slung an arm over Cas’ shoulders, bringing him closer and away from the television.

Silence fell over the living room as both of the men watched. The people on the screen cowered away from the cannibal.  Dean could see the fear in their eyes. The way that their breath hitched when Hannibal moved. The way that they knew he was a predator and that they tracked their eyes over his every move. But more than that he saw how trapped the cannibal was, stuck in a cage with no windows or hope. He knew that he shouldn’t let this movie get to him. He knew that Hannibal wasn’t Cas. That one is a psychopathic killer who was clearly insane and the other was his unendingly kind husband that cried when he watched _The Dead Poets Society_. That didn’t stop his mind from drawing up the similarities and imaging Cas taken away from the world and shoved into box for the rest of his life.

He would kill them if they ever tried. He would fight for Cas until his dying breath, he would murder for him in a heartbeat. He would tear their throats, watch as their heads rolled across the floor, as the blood trickled and drained.

He needed to stop thinking about this.

“Sam invited us over to dinner tonight.” He said to Cas without looking at him. He kept his eyes on the figures across the living room. Someone called the cannibal a monster and he involuntarily felt his grip on Cas tighten.

“Oh?” said Cas from under him, “when did you talk to him?”

“He called earlier today, said that my parents were coming in to town.” A policeman talked about Hannibal like he was an animal and Dean felt a shudder run through his body.

Cas gazed up at Dean, his eyes quickly calculated his expression, and sat up. He moved to take the remote from Dean and turned off the television. “Dean, if these things bother you so much why do you watch them?”

Dean sighed and also sat up. “I don’t know, Cas.” Cas looked at him expectantly, looking for a better answer, but Dean shook his head. “Can we not talk about this?”

Cas narrowed his eyes and looked like he was about to object before his expression softened. “Alright,” he said and he leaned back into Dean’s side. “You said something about your parents coming to town?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, “Apparently, they called Sam last night and told him that they would be swinging by, but you know how that turns out.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a while. “Do you think that they will come this time?” he said carefully.

Dean desperately wanted to say ‘yes’, but experience knew better. His parents always said that they would be there. Of course, they’d be there. That they would come home for Christmas or Sam’s birthday or even his goddamn wedding. But every time that they said that, every time that Dean said to himself ‘ _This is important. They’ll come this time.’_ he was let down. He spent the nights asking what he did wrong and what about him was so bad that his parents didn’t even want to see him. Then he would get a phone call the next day and his parents would ask for forgiveness. Every time he said that this was the last time that he would forgive them.

“I don’t know, Cas. It’s been almost six years since I’ve seen them, I don’t know why they would show up now.”

Cas didn’t say anything in reply and both of them sat in the darkening room, lost in their own thoughts.

Dean shifted and got up from the couch. “Come on, we have to get ready to go to Sam’s. Oh, and he said that you’re welcome to bring your own meal if you need to.” He put out his hand to help Cas up. His husband shook his head as he let Dean pull him to his feet.

“No, I’m fine. I ate what I needed yesterday so I should be good until about Tuesday.” He said as he moved towards their bedroom.

Dean followed and within an hour both of them were ready and heading into the Impala. They folded into the car and Dean began the familiar journey to Sam’s house. As the time passed the city thinned out and began to get more rural. It was kind of a pain because Sam’s house was practically in the middle of nowhere, but Dean knew that that was kinda of necessary for their “lifestyle”.

Beside him Cas was sitting comfortably in the familiar seat and staring out the window. He looked like a movie star like that, as if he had been plucked out of an intelligent indie film and been dropped into Dean’s life. What was going on in that beautiful mind of his? What kind of thoughts were in there? Knowing Cas, it was probably something deep and meaningful.

“What are you thinking about?” he couldn’t resist asking.

Cas hummed, turning towards Dean. He had that sage-like look in his eye, the gleam that he got when he was trying to figure out one of the mysteries of the universe.  “I was wondering what your ass would taste like.” He said with grave seriousness.

Dean didn’t say anything for a second, and then suddenly he erupted into full-bodied laughter that almost made him swerve the car off the road.  “You dick! And here I thought you were being all mysterious and philosophical.”

The other man shook his head in disagreement. “Dean, I think that this is a very important question to be answered.” He said in a deadpan voice.

Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye, trying to judge his blank face. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?” Shadows played across his face casting one half into the dark and the other into the light. It looked eerily symbolic like the universe trying to tell him something through visual cues, but hell if Dean knew what fate was trying to tell him.

Cas looked at him like he was surprised that that was even a question.  “Of course, Dean.”

“Dude, what did we say about imagining how our husband’s body would taste?” Dean said firmly.

With a huff, Cas crossed his arms and mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t hear that.”

“That we weren’t allowed to imagine how our husband’s body would taste.” He said petulantly, “And just so you know, I think that this rule is unfairly one-sided.”

Dean laughed and looked back at the road. His brother’s house was coming into view. “Sorry, but those are the rules.”

“Where is this aforementioned rulebook, Dean? I find it hard to believe that there’s a cannibalism clause in it.”

Dean didn’t say anything until finally he couldn’t resist his curiosity (even though he knew he was going to regret it). “So how _do_ you think that my ass would taste?”

His husband looked at him carefully like he was assessing if this was a trap. Slowly he said, “I think it would taste absolutely divine. It probably has a great balance of muscle and fat. The marbling would be fantastic.”

Dean didn’t reply and pulled into Sam’s driveway. He parked the car, still thinking about what Cas said, and got out. The other man also got out and they started walking to the front door.

Right as Cas knocked, Dean said, “Was that just an unnecessarily creepy way to call me a fat ass?”

Cas practically chocked on the sudden chuckle that burbled out of his throat and was still bent over laughing as Sam opened the door.

“Hey guys, what’s…” he trailed off as he watched Cas try to catch his breath again from his laughing fit. He looked at Dean with a question evident in his eyes and a raised eyebrow.

“You take him. He’s being a creeper and calling me fat while he talking about how ‘ _absolutely divine’_ my ass would taste.” Dean said as he pushed past his brother into the house. He could feel Sam staring at his back in confusion, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give an explanation, plus it was so much more entertaining to just leave Sammy hanging. So

Meanwhile, Cas had seemed to collect himself and straighten up. “It’s funny Dean,” he said with teasing in his voice, “You don’t seem to complain when I taste your ass in the bedroom.”

Dean froze and whipped around. “No. You do not get to make sex creepy.” He pointed his finger at Cas to emphasize the command. His husband just laughed and walked into the house, while greeting Sam.

Poor Sam looked terribly confused (not to mention slightly mortified) about what just happened, but quickly shook it off and greeted his brother and Cas with a hug. “I will never understand you guys’ relationship.” He said warmly before leading them both into the kitchen.

“So how have you been?” he asked as he opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. He quickly popped off the caps using a bottle opener and handed them to Dean and Cas.

“Things have been pretty good. I’ve been having a hell of a struggle with writer’s block, though, and I swear, Naomi will murder me if I don’t get a first draft to her in the next month. As Dean spoke, Cas moved behind him to take a seat at the bar and Sam leaned back against one of the counters. Dean plopped himself on top of the kitchen island. “But how about you, Victor Frankenstein, what have you been cooking up in your lab?”

Sam snorted and when he looked back at Dean, he had a glimmering excited sheen in his eye. “Oh you, gotta see Bella, Dean. She’s wonderful. I just made her three days ago and she’s already up and walking. You’ll love it.” He said, his voice filled with affection and a childhood wonder that he never grew out of.

Dean laugh and took another swig of beer. “I’m sure I will, Sam, but first tell me what exactly Bella is.”

Sam grinned even wider and tugged at his brother’s hand to pull him off the island. “Come on Dean, let me show you.” He said. Dean set his beer down, and let his little brother shepherd him back into the part of the house that Sam called “his lab”. He heard Cas follow them and looked back to see that his husband was smiling softly at Sam and him. The scene was a familiar one. Sam had been dragging Dean to come see his little experiments for as long as he could remember, and, when Cas came into the picture, began taking him too. Sammy had always been putting things together, mismatching strange and unlikely animals, and discovering the secret to life at five, even though it still baffled the scientific community.

What could he say? His little brother was a genius, despite his way-to-long hair and the perpetual puppy-like mannerism he had seemed to pick up. Now, though, he spends most of his days cooking up creatures in his lab and selling them to people within the supernatural community. His creations would go on to do all sorts of things and help all sorts of people, and Dean couldn’t be any prouder of him.

It grew warmer as they stepped into the lab, the air popping with electricity and chemical warmth. The sound of bubbling, and the constant hiss of machines filled the air, until suddenly it was punctuated by the sound of flapping wings. Dean waited and then he felt a familiar weight drop on his shoulder and the press of talons against his skin.

“Hey Fawkes.” He said lifting his hand to pet the bird that was wildly nuzzling against his cheek. The creature gave him a warbling chirp-twill and started to preen through his hair.

Fawkes was one of Sam’s first creations and (though he would never tell Sam this) Dean’s favourite. Fawkes had always taken a liking to Dean and, like Sam, he was one of the more constant things in his hectic, messed up life. He looked like a cross between a hawk, a peacock and an owl cloaked in shimmering iridescent blue, gold and black feathers. Sam had made him when he was 12 years old and had gotten himself really into Harry Potter, which is why he was named Fawkes even though the colours were all wrong. The colours also didn’t stop Sam from naming the species a House Phoenix and, now they were one of Sam’s best seller, prized by supernatural creature keepers across America.

“I see your friend found you.” Sam said, smiling as he watched the bird mother-hen Dean’s hair.

Dean couldn’t help grinning, too. “He always does.”

“I don’t see why you don’t just take him with you. He’s always liked you better than me. He’d be happier with you and now that you two have finally gotten settled.” He said, strongly implying what exactly he thought Dean should do.

“I don’t know,” Dean said hesitantly. “Would he be happy being in our house all the time? I don’t want him to sit in a cage for the rest of his life.”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry, Dean, Fawkes is happy to be wherever people are. He doesn’t need to much space, I mean, even now he spends almost all his time in the lab or the house because that’s where Jess and I always are. Anyways, I’m sure that Jess can cook you up a nice glamour spell that will make him look like a big parrot to anyone else. We’ll make it work.”

Dean was still unsure and looked back at Cas. Cas was still smiling and nodded at Dean, silently giving his permission.   

“I’ll think about Sam, but you know I’d love to have him.” He said, not quite ready to commit yet.

Sam nodded in response and turned to go deeper into the lab. He would have looked absolutely evil if he wasn’t calling out the name Bella and making high pitched baby sounds to attract his little creation to him. Within seconds, there was a weird barking noise and a scrabbling of claws against the concrete floor. A creature popped out from the corner of Sam’s lab and immediately zipped over to Sam in a blur of black (fur?) and bio luminesce. The air filled with the smell of ozone like what the world smelled like right before a thunderstorm.

The thing looked like a cross between a hound and a komodo dragon, like something straight out of James Cameron’s Avatar, the movie with the blue people in it. Now as he looked closer at it he could see that the creature had a very short coat of fur that pitch black, except for the patches of bioluminescence that flowed down its spine. The creature also had a wicked set of double rowed teeth and a black tongue that was hanging out of its mouth. The strangest thing about the animal, though, was that it had no eyes.

“Guys, this is Bella” Sam said with the voice of a proud parent as he sat on the ground with the animal. When the creature heard her name, she excitedly began to slobber all over Sam’s face, even as he tried to push her off with wildly failing limbs. It was easy to see that the creature was absolutely vicious.

“What exactly is Bella?” asked Dean. When he spoke, the dog-thing lifted her floppy ears and bounced over to him to excitedly begin sniffing his shoe.

“I’m thinking about calling them Electric Dogs. They naturally produce an excess of electricity, which is why she lights up.” Sam answered, still on the ground. Bella had moved on to sniffing her way up Cas’ pants.

“So basically, you made a living nightlight.”

 “And a generator.” Sam interjected. “I developed a special collar that can harness the electricity and be plugged into appliances.”

Dean nodded and looked back at the weird glowing dog thing. “So are you keeping her or…” Dean didn’t finish but Sam knew what he has asking.

“No, I made her for a supernatural conservationist. He goes around the country with his wife educating people about why some wild supernatural creatures should be preserved and protecting their habitats. They wanted a companion who would be able to stick with them during all their fieldwork and be useful when they have to campout. They are a wonderful couple, doing great work, Bella will fit in perfectly.”

Sam smiled at Dean and Dean couldn’t help the immense amount of pride he felt towards his little brother. How did Sam turn out so good? How did Sam, who was raised by a shitty, (absolutely terrified) big brother barely older than himself, turn out so right?

Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to tell Sam just how good he was, how proud he was, how much he loved him. But all he said was.

“Yeah, she will be happy. You did good Sam.”


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually, they all returned to the main house and Sam led them back into the kitchen. They each got another beer except for Cas who opted for water, and Dean seated himself right back on the island. Cas rolled his eyes at him, and Dean maturely stuck his tongue out at his husband. That earned him a sour look before Cas settled himself at the bar again and primly sipped his water like he was a goddamn princess. Jerk.   

“So,” Sam started, leaning back against the island Dean was sitting on. “I don’t think I ever asked you, Cas, how are things at work?”

Cas shrugged. “Pretty much the same. Believe it or not, working in a morgue is very uneventful; people consistently die in the same ways. I’m lucky to get an interesting case every few months.”

Sam nodded in agreement while taking a sip. Dean leaned forward to speak. “That’s not all though, tell Sam about the new meat.” He said.

His brother looked confused and looked at Cas for explanation. “He means the figurative ‘meat’. The higher ups decided to give me some new interns to ‘train’ and they are absolutely terrible.” The man scrunched up his face in annoyance. “I swear to you, Sam, they don’t know a leg from a ligament and I don’t think any of them have ever even seen a dead body before, let alone touch one. They are always just poking at the corpses like they’re afraid that the person is going to spontaneously come back to life. And when I tell them how to cut into the bodies they always get this green look on their faces like I just told them to kill their family pet. And I swear if I here another zombie joke, I’m going to quit.” He said, and he took an angry swig from his water. “It’s incredibly frustrating.”

“It sounds like that would be a pain.” Sam said, “But you know, they have to start somewhere.”

Cas glared at his water bottle and picked at the label with his thumb. “I’m glad that they’re starting, I just wish it wasn’t with me.”

Sam shook his head with the “what am I going to do with these people?” look on his face. Dean had often seen that face applied to him, and he was glad not to be the recipient for once. “Oh, Cas,” said Sam, breaking the comfortable silence. “Jess wanted to know whether you would be eating with us or not?”

Cas smiled, “Yes, please.”

“Great,” said Sam and he stood up to move out of the kitchen. “I’ll go tell Jess to put another steak on the grill. I’m sure she would like to come in and see you two also.” He walked out of the kitchen.

“You making your wife man the grill?” Dean called after him. “What kind of husband are you?”

“A better one than you, jerk.” His brother snapped back, before opening the back door and going outside.

Dean laughed and looked down at his beer bottle. It was kinda crazy to think about how much Sam had grown up. He already had a wife and Dean suspected that children were quickly coming soon. Hell, half the time when he pictured his brother he still saw the dopey, long-limbed kid who had a missing front tooth and not the man he had become. He wished that they could go back to those times, back to when Mom and Dad were around and before his life went to shit.

“Dean?” said Cas and Dean jerked his head up. He was immediately met when wide blue eyes that gazed at him with concern. Shit, when did Cas move in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” he said. His husband kept looking at him though, clearly not accepting the answer. He reached for the beer bottle and took it from Dean’s hands. He put it on the counter and then gathered the hands into his. “Really, Cas, I’m fine. I’m just thinking about how much of an old man I am.”

Cas smiled him warmly and leaned in. Carefully, he pressed a kissed against both of Dean’s eyes, then sweetly on his lips. “I love you, Dean, old man or not.” He smiled again, then said. “Thank god, I got stuck with you.”

Dean tipped his head down and pressed his forehead against Cas’. “Thank god, I got stuck with you.”  He was right about to give his husband a sound (and slightly inappropriate) kiss until he heard footsteps come into the kitchen. They paused and he pulled away to turn to the intruder.

“I’m sorry, did I just interrupt a moment?” Jess said, looking unsure in the doorway.

Cas turned and gave Jess a wide smile before walking over to give her a hug. “No, Dean was just being a romantic sap. He does that a lot.” He said conspiratorially in a low voice, even though it was definitely loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Hey,” Dean injected, “I am not a sap.”

Cas turned his head and gave him a disbelieving look. Jess’ eyes flicked to Dean and she gave him a sarcastic pity smile.

“Of course, Dean whatever you say.” she said with her voice placating as if she was talking to an extremely obtuse child.

Dean bristled and got off the island to straighten to his full height. “I am not. Ask anyone.”

Just then his brother walked into the kitchen and Cas smirked at Dean evilly with a predatory glint in his eye.

Shit.

“Hey Sam,” Cas said innocently, catching Sam’s attention. His brother looked up, completely oblivious to atmosphere in the kitchen. “Do you think that Dean is a sap?”

Sam laughed and nodded quickly. “Yeah, a complete romantic idiot.” he said, “I mean, he cried when he proposed to you, Cas, and I remember the day before he did. I swear, he was so nervous that I thought he was going to shit himself. He kept asking me if I thought you would say yes, if the ring was good enough, if you’d…” Sam trailed off when he caught the murderous look that his brother was giving him. His face did that stupid confused puppy thing that he always did when he didn’t think he did something wrong.

“What?” he asked.

“You fucking traitor,” Dean spat, “and I call you my brother.”

Sam, of course, looked more confused and turned to Jess for an explanation. She just smirked at him, didn’t offer any help.

“What did I say?” he said again, which made Cas and Jess burst out laughing. Dean glared everyone and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Traitors, all of you.” He grumbled before taking another drink from his beer. A few years ago, all this teasing would have really bothered him, it would have bent him out of shape and burrowed under his skin. Even now, he could feel the anger bubbling in his stomach and making his fingers twitch. They wanted something to grab, something to crush. A few years ago, he would have hurt someone, but a few years ago I didn’t have Cas and Cas helped him keep the wanting at bay.

“So, Sam, when’s dinner?” He asked to take his mind away from some of the darker thoughts that were being to pace in the back of his head.

His brother didn’t meet his eyes and glanced at Jess. “Well, technically dinner is ready it’s just that…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Dean sternly looked at his little brother, and Sam sheepishly flicked his eyes towards the ground.

“It’s just what Sammy?” He asked using his big-brother-voice. A move that he had perfected through years of practice.

“Well” he said, voice unsure. “We were kinda waiting for mom and dad.” The words came out quickly and all rushed together. As he spoke his voice kept getting lower until the last words were barely muttered.

Dean laughed without humor and put his beer bottle aside. “Don’t be naïve, Sam.” He said too harshly and the resentment bled into his voice without his permission. “They aren’t going to come. They never come.”

“But they promised they would.” Sam said softly, carefully. Not looking directly at Dean, but constantly flicking his eyes up, searching his face.

“Yeah, Sammy, of course they did. They always do, don’t they?” His voice was getting darker. “Just like they promised to be at our weddings. Or they promised to come to your graduation. Or they promised to come back to the hotel room in twenty minutes with food. Or how about when they promised to come back to pick us up from school. Remember that Sammy? It was a Friday and they left us there for the entire weekend.” He paused, fixing his brother with a cruel, sarcastic look. “Well, I sure as hell remember because it was wintertime and the building was fucking cold and I spent both nights panicking over whether my baby brother was going to freeze to death.”

He finished and nobody spoke. The silence rose and mocked him. He looked around at the faces that surrounded him daring for them to object. Sam, of course, did.

“Dean, you know that that wasn’t their fault.”

Dean snorted. How could his brother still think of their parents like this? Like they were still good, kind people who would always show up for the holidays and throw neighborhood parties. Like they cared about Sam and Dean, or even thought of them as their sons.

 Guess it didn’t matter how tall Sam got, because he was still a fucking kid.

“Get real, Sam” He spat. “and stop believing all their fucking excuses. You know what we are to them. They just don’t care. We’re not their kids, so why the hell should we think of them as our parents.” Anger was boiling under his skin and he quickly clenched and unclenched his fist. He kept his head down, eyes glaring at the wood-paneled floor.

He heard his brother shift and he heard Sam’s voice in front of him. “Dean,” he began, but before he could say anything, Dean swiveled around and stormed out of the house through the back door. As he left, he could feel his family’s eyes burning into his back, judging his retreating form. He could hear their voices in his head. He knew what they were really thinking. _There goes Dean, again... He never was able to control his anger. At least, he didn’t break anything this time._

The voices were getting louder. They were everywhere, taking control of Dean’s mind. They were slithered across his eyes and down his neck. Like ice cold fingers that trailed over his skin and crept around his throat. And all the while the voices spoke, getting louder and louder until his own voice was just a whisper.

“Shut up!” he yelled and suddenly everything became quiet, even the Earth around him seemed to still.

“Dean?” Cas said from behind him, quiet and tentative. Great, now even his cannibal husband thinks he’s crazy.

He turned and looked at Cas over his shoulder. He was standing in the doorframe, one hand down by his side, the other up and picking at the wood. Concern was written all over his face, Dean could see it in the creased line and crinkled eyes. He was shifting his weight, which meant he was nervous and was trying to decide whether he should come or leave.

“Hey Cas,” said Dean, breathless and bitter. His husband didn’t come next to him immediately, but then he slowed moved to Dean’s side. They soon there, side-by-side, but with faces forward, looking into the night.  They were both quiet until Cas gently broke the silence.

“Are you Ok?” he said. It was a simple question, but with tremendous meaning behind it. What even was OK, anyways? Had Dean every felt that way in his life?

Dean laughed, but the sound rattled and quickly fell from the air like a shot bird. “No, Cas, probably not, but I will be.” Cas didn’t answer to that and silence descended between them again. It was a comfortable silence, though, it was a building one. I was filled with Cas’ patience and concern and it sat squarely upon Dean’s shoulders, steadily growing heavier.

“It’s just…” He trailed off and Cas looked up at him, his eyes prompting him to go on.

“Sammy doesn’t get it.” He sighed, “He still thinks that we can be this Brady Bunch family, but we can’t. We can’t, Cas, so there’s no use in getting my hopes up.”

His husband was quiet again and just stood as strong and unmoving as a great mountain. Dean leaned against him and he felt Cas easily balance out his weight. Thank god, he had Cas, who might just be the most stable thing in his life other than Sam. Cas always came. Cas was always there. Hell, Cas was here right now and just by doing that he succeeded in being a part of Dean’s that Dean’s parents never were.

“Thank god, I got stuck with you.” He said. He tried to keep the insecure question out of his voice, but he could still hear it.

Cas must have, too, but he ignores it and just turned his face to smile up at Dean. “Thank god, I got stuck with you too, Dean” He whispered and then he leaned in to sweetly kiss him. Dean sucked in breath at all the concern and comfort the kiss gave him. It told him that he was here, and he was loved and that he didn’t need to doubt that. Not even for a second.

Cas broke away with a small smile on his lips. “Now, why down you come inside, so we can eat dinner.” He paused and then spoke again, but this time more hesitantly. “Sam wants to apologize to you, but I think that you should apologize to him, too.”

Dean opened his mouth, but the look on Cas’ face quickly shut him up. “Do not punish him for having hope, Dean. The world always needs hope.” He said, before he turned dramatically went back into the house with the door closing behind him. Dean swore that he was an actor in another life.

Dean sighed. Man, he felt like a dick, but he was worried about his baby brother. He was worried that someday Sam might become cynically and cruel like he did when he finally realized that he didn’t have parents. He didn’t want to have to put Sam back together again.

With another second of hesitation, he went back into the house and found everyone talking around the dinner table. Their voices were low and he couldn’t make out the specific words, but he knew they were talking about him. When he went into the room, they all stopped talking at once and his brother approached him.

“Dean, I just wanted to say-” Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“No Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like such a dick.”

His little brother didn’t say anything and then suddenly Dean felt his hand pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Dean, now why don’t we eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

He smiled and Dean smiled back and then suddenly everything was okay again. Jess ducked into the kitchen with Sam following close behind to start bringing food out. Dean and Cas took their seats and watched as the table filled with way too much food. Sam and Jess finally sat down and they dug in.

The food, of course, was wonderful, but then again almost anything that Jess made was guaranteed to be top notch. Sam was sure as hell lucky for that because he hardly knew a pot from a pan and could hardly make mac and cheese for himself. (How did he survive college?). They were having steak that night, an all-around crowd pleaser and easy on the stomach for their more cannibalistically inclined guests.

Dean watched as said cannibalistically inclined guest expertly handled a knife and cut into the rare piece of steak with ease. Cas quickly moved the blade, never having trouble opening up the flesh. Really shouldn’t be surprised about that because Cas did work as a mortician (which meant cutting people open) and he had to personally butcher all his “special” meat (which also meant cutting people open), but damn did seeing Cas’ nimble, sure fingers handle a piece of meat turn him on.

Suddenly, right in the middle of Dean’s imaginings of what those deft fingers would be doing to him tonight, the doorbell rang and Dean’s thoughts all came to a screeching halt.

In an instant, everyone stopped eating and uncomfortable silence fell over the room. No one said a word. The doorbell rang again and this time it seemed even louder. Sam slowly put down his silverware and pushed out of his chair. The sounds seemed to echo through Dean’s head and he took a gulp of water to try to take his mind off the angry heat that was beginning to build up in his stomach.

He listened as Sam’s footsteps grew quieter and when he swung the door open.

“Hello?” His voice was unsure and cautious.

“Hello Sam. How is my baby boy?” Mary’s voice sang through the house and Dean felt his blood suddenly run cold. He froze unable to decide whether he wanted to run and hide or swallow his mother up in a hug. Cas’ hand slowly came up to capture his and Dean gripped it like it was his last anchor to reality. In this moment, it might actually have been.

“Hi Mom, I’m happy to see you too” said Sam, even though he didn’t sound too happy. He could make out his brother’s tall form from the hallway that connected the dining room and the entryway, but he couldn’t see his parents. Sam kept looking between his parents and his brother, silently asking Dean what to do. He looked pained and just a little bit scared, which made Dean push down the anger that was rising within him, and nod to his brother to let them in. 

He ignored the pitying look that Sam gave him and blankly focused on the hallway as it began to fill with people to he hated to love. His mom came in first. She burst into the hallway like a colorful whirlwind, hooking her arms around Sam’s neck and bending him down so she could kiss his cheek. She looked as she always did: in the peak on youth with smooth skin and golden hair, nothing to give evidence to the centuries of life underneath that skin. Dean was well aware that his mother was breathtakingly beautiful, but the fact hit him like a train every time he saw her. She was wearing a floral dress that flowed about her when she moved, the fabric rippled in her wake following her like the trail of flowers at a wedding or, maybe, a funeral. She spun around, the flowers spinning with her, and caught Dean’s eyes. She smiled at him, showing him perfect white teeth framed by sculpted lips. Her golden hair cascaded around her youthful face, a face that had inspired poems and songs and soldiers to go off to war. There was an inevitably to Mary Winchester, an inevitably that moved as sure and as steadily as time itself. Time and Mary Winchester might as well have been the same thing, both endless and both destined to leave their children behind.

“Here’s my big boy,” she said sweetly, her eyes sparkling. She drew close to him and captured his face between her hands. She tilted up his chin and surveyed over him like she was looking at a particularly interesting painting. Something that caught her attention for a moment, right before she flitted off to the exhibit. At this point in his life though, he didn’t expect anything else from his mother. He was just a pretty thing that she had produced once upon a time.

 After another second of inspection, Mary dropped her hands away from his face.

“Don’t frown so much, Dean, you get wrinkles on your forehead.” She said as she moved to greet Jess. Like she knew anything about wrinkles.

As Mary Winchester glided away from him, Dean turned back towards the hall way where Sam and his father, John, were in a deep, murmuring conversation. John’s voice was tinged with an experience that Mary’s had never attained and portrayed his age better than his body. John sighed, his weariness rang through the sound, and began walking into the dining room. He silently followed his wife, also miraculously untouched by time and fated to be Mary Winchester’s eternal shadow and champion. His father moved slowly, but there was no doubt in his strength. He was a man who knew what it was to hold the world on his shoulders and still felt that weight to this day. It was he, after all, who had fought the world wars, the civil wars, the bloodless wars and the perpetual wars, while Mary stayed at home. John Winchester was a soldier, a soldier who would never die.

John Winchester looked to Dean, and gave him a curt nod of greeting. Dean replied with a brusque “Hi dad,” and then as suddenly as it began John’s acknowledgment of Dean ended. At this point in his life though, he didn’t expect anything different from his father. John moved to Mary and stood silently by her as she spoke at Cas about some kind of rock formation they had seen in Nevada.

Sam came up behind his brother and gently put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He leaned down and spoke into Dean’s ear.

“Are you okay?” he asked not hiding his concern.

“Of course, I am” he said flatly before shrugging off the hand on his shoulder, “Dude, no click flick moments.” Even though every single one of his instincts screamed at him to keep his brother close and to protect him and to let him act as Dean’s anchor. He couldn’t, though. He just couldn’t. Not with his Dad here.

Sam hesitantly took his hand away and gave Dean a “hurt-puppy” that absolutely did not have any effect on him. Before straightening up and clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Mom, Dad, I’m so happy to see you guys here. Why don’t you come take a seat at the table and me and Jess can get you some food?” He said, gesturing to two empty places at the table. Mary smiled widely and breezed to the seat with John following solemnly after her. She took the vacant seat next to Dean and John sat on her opposite side at the head of the table. Jess stood and with a quick word, and disappeared into the kitchen to get more food. An awkward silence fell over the family, wrapping around them like a scratchy wool blanket.

Dean stared ahead, unwilling to look directly at his parents. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cas shifting his gaze between John, Mary and Dean. His eyes lingered on Dean the longest, silently trying to prompt him into doing something, Dean didn’t though. And he wasn’t sure whether it was because he didn’t want to or because he just couldn’t. He was scared of what he might say.

After a few minutes of silence, Jess came shuffling back from the kitchen carrying two new plates of steak. She placed them in front of John and Mary and began to go back to her seat. As she passed Sam, she gently laid her hand on his arm and wordlessly led him back to the seat next to her.

Slowly everyone started to eat again, but the atmosphere of the dining room was drastically different. Long gone was the light-hearted family meal, replaced by a palpable layer of tension. (Ironic, because now there was literally more family). Dean could feel the way that everyone was just waiting for something and a part of him knew that, they were waiting for him to happen.

But he wasn’t going to. By god and everything good in this Earth, he wasn’t going to get angry this time. He was going to sit here and eat his food. After that he was going to bring his plate into the kitchen and say thank you for the meal. He was going to tell his parents that it was nice to see them, and then he was going to leave with his beautiful husband. And then, after Cas goes to sleep, he will let himself feel hurt that his parents came to Sam’s dinner invitation and they didn’t even bother to call on Dean’s wedding day and then he will put this evening into his mental box of “things that I will _not_ think about” and go to sleep. Hopefully.

“So, Dean,” his father’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, forcing him to come unwillingly back into the present where he actually has to live through this evening. “how is working going?”

“Good” he answered, immediately feeling like a kid again, even though visibly he looked much older than his dad.

John nodded. “Do you have anything new coming out soon?” He asked, even though he was sure that his dad had never read one of his books before. Hell, he was sure that his father didn’t even know the titles of his books.

“Yeah,” he heard himself answer, “I’m working on a plotline now and I’m going to send Naomi a first draft soon.”

His father nodded again and didn’t comment. His face was as blank as ever, and Dean found himself trying to read it. Again. In the back of his head, he knew it was futile though. He had never learned how to read his father all throughout his childhood and he highly doubted he was ever going to interpret his dad’s stony face. It was always the same and it left Dean scrabbling to find the tiniest shred of emotion to judge what his father thought about him.  He almost wished that his father would just erupt with anger instead. Because then at least he would know how his dad felt.

“Oh, Dean baby, what is this story going to be about?” His mother cooed, soundly both curious and patronizing at the same time.

“Um,” Dean stuttered, “Well, I think it’s going to be about a lighthouse keeper and the things they see in the ocean.”

She scrunched up her face, but the expression quickly flitted away before Dean could really register it. It was like a camera flash, a brief shudder of thought before it was moved away to make room for the next one. That was how it was with Mary Winchester.

“What’s so interesting about a lighthouse?” She asked bluntly, completely ignoring Dean’s small flinch at the question. That was the very question that he had been asking himself these last few weeks as the novel got rooted in the back of his mind.

Thankfully, Cas immediately saw the way Dean reacted to the inquiry and jumped into answer for him. “Dean is thinking about doing something more experimental. Using the rather bleak setting the act as a canvas and contrast for the life that the keeper would like to live. It’s a very introspective idea and one that I’m very excited to see come into being.”

Mom didn’t look entirely convinced by that explanation, but Sam practically perked his ears about hearing something about Dean’s writing. By habit, Dean was always secretive about what he was writing, not even telling his little brother that he was writing his first book until he had a newly published finished product to send to Sam’s doorstep. His brother had nearly had a heart attack when he got it and Dean could still remember the frantic phone call he got the next day. It was equally littered with death threats and compliments as Sam tried to congratulate him while remaining angry.

“Really Dean?” Sam said excited, latching on to the idea like a dog at a bone. “Is that what you’re thinking of writing?”

“Yeah, it’s something like that,” he said, his voice getting a little bolder as he addressed his brother. “It’s still very new though, I haven’t even decided whether I’m going to go with a male or female protagonist.”

Sam smiled widely. “Well, it still sounds great and very philosophical.” His smile turned into a smirk. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle that Dean, yesterday you called me to tell me that you nearly shit yourself when you saw that the grocery store had started selling dinosaur egg oatmeal again.  You know, the one with the rainbow sprinkles in it.”

Dean glared at his brother and that stupid innocent face he was making. Goddamn him why did he have to say things like that in front of his parents. Surprisingly, though Mary Winchester laughed and the sound of bells rang through the dining room. Dean instantly felt a little calmer and settled in his seat a little more. Maybe he could get through this.

“Oh, Dean, still a child, just a child.” His mother said affectionately and for a second he actually felt it. That cracked almost immediately though, all it all happened with his father’s voice.

“Yes, but when is he going to grow up.” The words pierced and sent ice streaming down his backbone. Dean froze and didn’t dare look at his father. Half because he was afraid of what he was going to see in his dad’s eyes and what he was not going to see. “Stop playing around Dean, when will you go get a real job.”

“John,” Mary’s voice cut through the dining room and sliced the tension filled air. It was uncharacteristically hard and Dean was almost brought to a holt by it. Almost, but not quite. Mary was not enough of a mom to use that type of power.

 It started with a dark laugh and rage building up is his throat letting to be let out. It had been stewing in him this entire dinner and now he could feel that darkness inside him wanting to crawl out. “Who are you to talk about growing up?” Dean hissed, “You two haven’t grown up a day in your lives, so like hell you can lecture me about it.” He paused and the silence in the room only made him angrier.

 “You know what, Dad,” he spat the word like it was poison on his tongue, “you actually did make me grow up. You did it every time you and Mary forgot about me and Sammy, every time you abandoned us at a store or starving in a cold motel room. You did it when you decided that going off and taking a vacation was more important than your own children. You did it when you gave me to Alistair to be trained and made into a killer.”

His voice shook and suddenly he realized that there were tears threatening to spill from his eyes. All the angry that had been flooded through his voice was gone and what was left was a broken strangled thing that hurt. It was hurt and hollow and scared Dean more than he would ever admit.

“I think that it’s time for Dean and I to go.” Cas’ voice rumbled from somewhere near Dean’s ear, giving him something to hold on to. He realized that Cas had pulled him against his body and was gripping his hand firmly, running a finger up and down his knuckles. He didn’t dare look up and see his concerned eyes or the horrified looks that no doubted littered his family’s faces.

“No,” his brother said, “I think it’s time for John and Mary to leave. They have made it very obvious that they do not deserve to be under this roof any longer.” He spoke with authority and had it been any other time Dean would have teased him about pulling out the “lawyer” voice, but now he was eternally thankful for it.

“Dean, why don’t you and Cas head to the guest bedroom and make yourselves comfortable? It’s late and we’re happy to have you over for the night.” Jess said gently. Cas nodded and nudged Dean up from his seat. Dean didn’t fight it though, and silently followed his husband to bed, leaving his brother and his parents behind.

He heard his little brother’s angry murmur through the halls, and silently smiled to himself about the tongue lashing his parents were getting right now. Cas opened the door to the bedroom and guided Dean over to the large comforter. He sat Dean down and went over to the drawer to get out some of the extra clothes they left here. Sam’s didn’t really get a lot of guests, partly because their house was so out of the way, partly because of their very “alternative” lifestyle. Because of that, the guest bedroom was practically a home away from home for Dean and his husband and they had steadily moved a bunch of their stuff into the room over time.

Cas moved easily in the dark room, silently getting out Dean’s clothes and walking back over to him. He stood in front of Dean for a beat, before breaking the silence. “I’m not going to dress you, Dean.” He said tersely, though there was amusement in his voice. Dean didn’t move to take the clothes. Cas sighed, and put them on the bed. He sat down heavily next to Dean.

Together they sat in the dark and the silence. Moonlight trickled into the room creating pools of light and shadows that swirled together like water on the floor. Dark shapes moving with the sway of the wind outside and the subtle movement of Cas and Dean breathing together. Dean leaned into Cas and put his head on his shoulder, comforted by the steady strength coiled in that body. He was so close that he could feel the mechanics of Cas’ body working to keep him alive, a strange combination of industrial organic fluency. He reached out at took Cas’ hand in his own, bringing it to where he could see. The pale skin practically glowed white against the darkness, such a startling contrast to the night. He looked at the way the folds of the palm created valleys and slopes, places for the river to run, and the way that skin sank in to make room for his wedding ring. Dean wondered what it would be like to pull that skin back, to see the hidden anatomy underneath. He would pin the skin behind the palm and lay the inner workings Cas’ palm for only him to see. First there would be blood, but then there would be revelation. He would see the pulse of life in its purity, thrumming in its eternity. He would see the flex and twitch of his husband’s grasp as he reached forward. He would see the way that the white tendons struck out defiantly against the meat, like the legs of lovers against red satin sheets. And maybe, with Cas open and laid bare, he would find a secret of the universe within those folds of flesh.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice rocked him gently out of his fantasy, and the red bloody hand became something white and whole again. He ran his fingers reverently over Cas’ skin and laced their fingers together.

“Yes, Cas?” he asked in the dark.

“What did we say about imagining how our husband’s body would taste?” His voice was low and husky, but filled with gentle affection. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, reflecting the whispering chill of the night back at Dean.

 Dean didn’t answer and instead looked up to his husband with a question evident in his eyes. Cas chuckled and used his other hand to trace the way that their hands were interlocked,

“It takes one to know one.” He whispered and gave Dean a toothy smile. “I may be the cannibal, but you are the hunter.”

And with that they both fell back into silence. Eventually they moved to lay down in the bed and curled up against each other. They settled in the sheets and listened to the night until they both drifted off, the cannibal and the hunter asleep in each other’s arms.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Dean lazily blinked awake as sunlight poured in from the window. His head was rested in the crook of Cas’ neck and their legs were tangled together under the sheets. He could feel Cas’ breathe whispering against his skin and the gentle thrum of his beating heart. His sleeping husband was a glorious sight, all soft, strong angles and a perfect living study in how hot/beautiful someone can be. Dark hair fell messily across his forehead and a line of drool glistened on his chin. Dean chuckled softly to himself and gently rose a piece of the blanket to wipe the spit from Cas’ face. His husband mumbled something in response to the touch and turned his face into the pillow with a grunt. Dean wanted to stay in that moment forever, lazily wrapped around the love of his life, but nature called and he had to untangle himself and go to the bathroom.

After wiping the sleep away from his body, Dean put on fresh clothes and quietly walked out of the room. In the doorway, he turned to look one last time at his husband before softly closing the door. He knew how much Cas loved sleeping in and he wanted to make breakfast for the household, so he left his husband in bed. All around him the house was quiet and filled with the sense of morning. Sunlight softly dipped through the windows, and dappled the living room in pools of golden, making the entire house feel warm and welcoming. Entirely different from papalable tension that occurred last night.

Dean padded into the kitchen and smiled at the way his socked feet slid across the tile. It reminded him of way he was young and him and Sammy used to have these dance competitions in motel kitchens. They used to spend hours just dancing, until one of them called for a break and collapsed onto the bed in a mess of exhaustion and giggles. Those were the days.

Silently, Dean turned on the stove and got out a pan from the bottom cabinets. He was so familiar with this kitchen that he didn’t have any trouble finding what he needed. He got out vegetables and fruit from the fridge and started cutting them up, the fruit destined for a fruit salad and the vegetables to go into the omelets. Once everything was cut, he took bacon from the fridge and smoothly slid it into a pan. Crackles filled the kitchen and next he started up the coffee machine. Within a few moments, the apparatus gargled to life and began to spurt out its life-giving product. Dean smiled to himself and then leaned against the counter, waiting because he knew that the combination of bacon crackles and coffee smell would surely tempt someone out from bed.

Sure enough, Sam came stumbling out of his room and landed heavily into one of the chairs at the bar. Wordlessly, Dean placed Sam’s favorite mug in front of him and filled it with coffee. He set the sugar container and the creamer next to him and watched his brother begin to prepare his coffee. Sam muttered out a “thanks” and Dean went back to the stove to finish up the omelet as Jess came into the room.

“Oh Dean, you didn’t have to do this,” she said as she walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. He laughed and slid an omelet on to a plate, before cracking eggs to start another.

“You say that every time, and it hasn’t stopped me yet.” He said as the placed the food in front of his baby brother. Sam immediately lit up when food was put in front of him and looked about ten times more awake. He gave Dean a big sloppy grin before digging into the omelet without further ado. The other omelet only took a few more moments before he could give it to Jess, who was now sitting beside her husband nursing her cup of coffee.

She thanked him for the meal, but stopped before taking a bite when she noticed that he wasn’t making himself one.

“Where’s your food, Dean?” she asked. He shrugged and looked to the hallway that led back to his and Cas’ room.

“I was waiting for Cas, but now I’m wondering if I’m going to have to send a search party in there to get him.”

As if on cue, Cas practically crashed out of the hallway, still in pajamas and looking half-asleep. He didn’t stop to greet the other people in the kitchen and instead made a beeline for the coffee machine. He filled up his mug (which Dean had helpfully place right next to the machine) with coffee, fixed it, and then leaned up against the kitchen island. He has hardly waited for it to cool off a bit, before he began to hastily sip it, taking as much hot liquid as he could bear without burning his tongue. Dean felt his mouth move into a smile as he watched his husband guzzle down coffee like his life depended on it and then went back to the stove to make them some omelets.

The kitchen fell into a peaceful hum of noise like that. Sam and Jess were talking together about one of the ingredients for Jess’s spells, Dean was scraping at the frying pan and Cas was sipping at coffee. Gentle sounds that complemented each other and made it into a home, Dean loved moments like this.

He finished off the omelet and the runny eggs and took both plates over to the island. He put the eggs beside Cas before jumping up onto the island balancing the omelet plate on his knees. It only took a few moments before Cas jumped up to join him and they were sitting side by side on the marble surface. Cas leaned into him and began to cut into the runny eggs.

“So, are you ready to join the land of the living for the day?” Dean said. He had turned to whisper the words into the shell of Cas’ ear and didn’t miss the shiver that ran down Cas’ spine.

“If you are referring to the metaphorical way that I “sleep like the dead” then yes, I guess I can suffer another day with you.” He quipped, keeping a perfectly straight face as he delicately ate his little egg bites.

Dean smiled before, pecking Cas on the cheek and leaning his forehead against Cas’ temple. “Thank god, I got stuck with you.” He said softly.

Cas rolled his eyes before turning to look at his husband straight on. “Yes, thank god I got stuck with you too. Now will you please let me eat or do you plan on distracting me further with your morning affection?”  

He pulled back and let his husband continue picking at his nearly-raw eggs before starting on his own. They ate for a few moments before Sam looked up and broke the silence.

“So, what do you two have planned for this weekend?” he said.

Dean looked at Cas who shrugged and then back at his brother. “I don’t think we have anything really going on. I was hoping to get a dent into my first draft and I think that Cas has some weird ass nature show that he was planning to watch.”

Cas huffed and butted his shoulder against Dean’s. “It is not a weird ass nature show. It is a ground-breaking documentary about the life cycles of bees and an in-depth look into their hive behavior.”

Dean gave him a blank look, then turned back to his brother. “so yeah, a weird ass nature show.”

Cas rolled his eyes and said something that suspiciously sounded like “why did I marry you?”, right before shoving another spoonful of barely-cooked eggs into his mouth. Dean snickered and stuck his tongue out at Cas, ignoring the exasperated look that both his husband and his brother was giving him. Hey, can’t a guy have a little fun?

“What about you two?” Dean asked “got anything scheduled for the rest of today?”

Jess hummed and Sam nodded. “Yeah, we were planning on driving Bella up to her new home and maybe stay in the mountains for a few days. You know, to get away for a bit.”

“That sounds like it will be fun. It’s good to take a break for a little while.”

Sam rolled his eyes at that. “Yeah, says the guy who almost never stops working.”

Dean grunted and threateningly pointed his fork at his little brother. “Hey, I got bills to pay and words to write. Who do you think pays for all of Cas’ fancy ass coffee?”

Cas nearly choked on the piece of egg he was swallowing before glaring at his husband. His steely eyes bored into him with an intensity that froze him. “Dean.” His voice was sharp and Dean cursed the traitorous shiver that ran down his spine. “As I recall, you haven’t been paid for a while now because you refuse to send a rough draft to your agent, who can’t possibly pitch it to a publisher if she has no idea what the book is about. So, as the only one in the household that has a steady job I’m pretty sure that I buy my own fancy ass coffee.”

Dean stared dumbly at his husband and felt his mouth open up in shock. Sam looked like he was about to break down into a laughing fit and Jess was valiantly hiding her giggles behind her hand. Dean glared at both of them, silently trying to get them to stop. That was the final straw though because all the sudden the kitchen was filled with the full-bodied laughter from his brother and sister-in-law.

He keeps glaring at them, even though there was a smile beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth. He turned back towards Cas and saw that his husband was hiding his smile behind his coffee mug.

Damn, three against one and Dean knew this was a battle he wasn’t going to be winning.

So, he laughed too.

 

Once breakfast was done, everyone began to help cleaning up. Dean immediately argued that it was his job because he was the one who dirtied up the kitchen in the first place, but Jess quickly shut him up. She said, the nicest, most intimidating way possible that house rules stipulated that guest don’t ever need to cook or clean up, and Dean had already broken one of those rules, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to be breaking the other.

Of course, none of this was flying for Dean. Like the stupid asshole he was, he wanted to insist on cleaning up, but when he opened his mouth to argue, Jess fixed him with a glare so strong that the words literally died in his throat. He nervously sat back in his chair and pretended that he had no objections whatsoever while Jess whisked around the kitchen. And that was how Dean was wordlessly bridled in by a woman that didn’t even reach his shoulder.

Sam and Cas looked way too amused as they washed and dried dishes. Assholes.

When they finished cleaning up, Jess began to engage Cas in a conversation about the supernatural occurrences in the area and the general happenings of the community. Dean listened, but didn’t really follow the entire conversation, only catching one or two of the names they brought up. Jess and Cas were the only ones that really had a true connection to the supernatural community (though maybe you could argue that Dean did too, but he didn’t really want to think about the nature of his connection). Jess had been raised as a witch from when she was very young and her family had deep connections and history. To her, the community was just a normal, daily part of her life and most of her business revolved around supernatural in the USA. Cas, of course, was born into the community because of the supernatural in his blood, even though he was mainly human.

Cas and Jess stood up at the same time drawing Dean from his thoughts about his husband. He caught Cas’ eye, raising his eyebrow in a silent question of where they were going. Cas smiled and reached down to rub his hand over Dean’s knuckles.

“Jess is wants to draw a few more vials of bloods. She said she needs two more to fill an order they just got.” He said and he wrapped his hand around Dean’s to gently pull him from his chair.

They did this a lot, Jess asked for blood nearly every time that him and Cas came over. Cannibal blood, after all, was very valuable because it was used in a highly sought after vein of magic (the most potent spells to enhance ambition and success morbidly called for “the blood of a man willing to consume another”). Even in the supernatural community, pure cannibals (human who ate other humans; Cas qualified because he only had the tracest amounts of Creature in him) were very rare because of the intermingling of blood with other supernatural creatures and many extermination attempts from the Hunter community. The number of cannibals around the country were probably in the couple dozen now, and some members of the supernatural already believed them extinct. Dean would have probably thought them extinct too if he wasn’t married to one.

Low numbers however, meant that the asking price for cannibal blood skyrocketed and both Winchester houses made an extremely handsome sum off of selling Cas’ blood around the United States. Jess was their distributor. She used her connections in the Witching circles to distribute the product and manage the price of it. 

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand, pulling him out of his thoughts on the cannibal blood market, and asked to come with him using those guileless baby blues. Dean rolled his own eyes, but easily complied to his husband’s request. “Is someone afraid of needles, Castiel?” he asked teasingly, using Cas’ full name just to irk him. Cas, of course, did his pinched face of annoyance and huffed.

“No Dean, I just know that you get whiny when left all by yourself.” He snarked back and then turned to follow Jess out of the room and into her workshop. Dean trailed after them and tried not to let a pout show on his face. He knew that if they saw it, that would be more reason for teasing.

Dean loved Jess’ workshop. It was wild and full and whimsical and made him feel like a kid all over again. Magic hummed in the air, playing a tune that only Jess could hear. There were bookshelves everywhere filled with ancient tomes and scrolls (though every once in a while, Dean caught a modern book slipped in there). Potion bottles filled every flat surface that wasn’t taken up by books with different colour brews stewing inside. He even recognised some Erlenmeyer flasks that she had no doubt stolen from Sammy’s lab. Jess hummed as she seemed to float around the room, brushing away different bits and pieces from around the workshop in a desperate attempt to make it look presentable.

“Sorry about this, guys.” She said as she straightened up a pile of books. “Usually it’s not this bad.”

Dean chuckled. “Jess, I’ve been here about a million times and I can safely say that it never looks better.”

 Jess shot him a stink eye, but affection was clearly in it. She moved some flasks that were precariously placed near the edge of a table and pulled out an empty test tube holder to put on the now empty space.

“Shut up, Dean Winchester, do not make me turn you into a frog.”

 “Oh, please do,” Cas said wryly, “I’m sure it would be an improvement. He would be much quieter that way.” Dean tried to glared at his husband, but Cas kept pointedly looking forward as if he was invisible. Dick.

“He would take up less space too,” Jess quipped back as she began putting empty vials into the test tube holder, “and he wouldn’t leave dirty laundry around the house. I know you hate that, Cas.”

 “I do” answered Cas like they were discussing the weather or something and not Dean’s transformation into a small slimy animal. He knew Jess could do it too, and the thought sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Dean couldn’t let this go on any further.

“Guys, stop, I’m right here.” He said, but the two just went on like he didn’t exist at all.

“Do you think you could turn him into something a little fluffier. How about a cat? I like cats.” Cas said. He was getting a real kick out of this, Dean could see it written all over his devilishly little shit smirk.

Jess nodded with a matching grin on her face. “Of course, Cas I can do a cat.”

“Guys, I don’t be like this. Come one, Cas, don’t you love me just the way I am?” he whined because he knew that the “just the way I am” phrase would pull at Cas’ sentimental cannibal heartstrings. His husband was a sucker for things like that and Dean knew that he couldn’t ignore that. His husband rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what Dean was doing, but still smiled and grasped his hand.

“Yes, Dean I love you just the way you are.” And then Cas released his hand to go sit in a chair that Jess had pulled out for him. She gave each of them a knowing smirk and instructed Cas to turn his arm up. The cannibal twisted his arm, exposing the milky white flesh underneath. Dean could see the thin, bluish veins running just under the skin and flowing with his husband’s lifeblood. Jess leaned in closer to Cas’ arm, mentally choosing the proper vein before piercing it with a needle.

Dean watched the first vial fill with his husband’s deep red blood. Eventually, Jess topped it off and removed the needle. She held it up, gazing upon its contents. It looked like liquid ruby when the light, just beautiful for a moment. Then she set the vial down on the table next to her and the jewelled liquid went back to looking like regular old human juice.

“Hey Jess,” he said and he picked up the vial of blood to hold it back into the sunlight. It instantly became shiny again, gleaming. She hummed to show she was listening, “Did Cas’ blood ever give you any clues into what kind of creature is floating around in there?”

Jess shrugged as she prepared another needle and disinfected Cas’ arm again. The cannibal didn’t even blink an eye as she began to stick the needle in again. He just absently watched Dean play with his vial of blood,

“I still don’t know actually. I ran a few tests like you asked, but I didn’t give any results. Sam even tried to run it through one of the government DNA bases, but he didn’t get any hits. That means that whatever it is, the creature is something that outdates a lot of the more recent tech, magical or otherwise.” She pauses as she focuses on the vial. The blood was nearing the line that she wanted it at, and she didn’t want to risk any of it spilling over. She pulled the needle out and capped the glass while she kept talking.

“I would say that your guess of a siren would be pretty correct although it would have to be from the Classical Hellenic species. They went extinct in the mid 1700’s, but were the only bloodline that retained their man-eating ways. If we knew a little more about Cas’ family I could probably tell you more, but…” She trailed off there but nobody in the room needed the end of that sentence. Most of Cas’ past was a mystery to Dean, though he knew enough of it to know that it hurt Cas to talk about it. He barely remembered his family and what he did remember their screams as hunters broke into his house and began killing them, one-by-one.

“All done.” Jess chirped, and Dean realised that she had gone ahead and filled the last of her vials. She laid a little Band-Aid on Cas’ puncture (the Band-Aid was a bee-patterned one that he had admitted to loving a few months ago) and smiled at him. “Thank you for your blood, Cas. I’ll deposit the profit into your account within a few weeks.”

Cas nodded and rose from the seat. He stretched out his arms and then rubbed the arm where the needle went in. It was probably already beginning to ache from being stabbed. “It’s no problem, Jess,” he said genuinely “I will admit I enjoy having the extra income, especially since Dean has decided that he can’t deign himself to begin writing his next novel.”

Dean practically choked on his own spit at that and whipped around to snark at his husband. The cannibal smirked back at him and together they bickered their way out of the magic room and into the warm kitchen. Jess followed close behind with a smile on her face.

                                                                                 ******              

It was around three in the afternoon by the time that Dean and Cas decided that it was time to go. They had only intended to come over for dinner and that had turned into an overnight stay, breakfast and lunch. Sam and Jess needed to start packing up, so they come begin the long trek into the mountains where Bella’s new family awaited and Dean and Cas took that as their cue to leave.

Dean and Cas quickly got their things together and Dean handed Cas his duffel bag to put into the Impala. Cas slid the bag one to one of his shoulders and tugged the car keys out of Dean’s hand before jauntily walking to the car. Dean watched Cas’ ass from the open doorway, until his husband turned to quickly knowingly smirk at him. Embarrassed he swung his eyes away from Cas and headed back into the house to collect the last of their stuff. He did one last sweep of their room to make sure he didn’t forget anything and closed the door. Now all that was left was to tell his brother goodbye and Dean began looking for Sam.

He found him leaning against one of the walls by the front door, slouched and picking at his fingernails, a nervous habit he never grew out of. As Dean approached, Sam grabbed his arm stopped his brother right before he went out the door. Dean paused and met Sam’s eyes, question obvious in his eyes. Sam looked serious, too serious for a simple goodbye and an ugly feeling sank in his stomach.

“Dean, can I talk to you for a second?” he said in an anxious whisper. Dean nodded and Sam pulled him into the dining room, away from where Jess and Cas could see them.

“What is it, Sam?” Dean asked, turning towards his brother.

Sam stared down at the floor until he finally met Dean’s eyes. “Dad said something before you left.”

Dean grimaced and found himself caught between wanting to stay and hear Sam out and stomp away in anger. As much as he hated feeling obligated to listen to his father, he trusted that Sam would only tell him something if he thought that it was really important.

Sam hesitated and then took a deep breath before speaking. “It turns outs that Mom and Dad didn’t come for dinner. They came to warn us.” He didn’t say it, but Dean could look into his little brother’s eyes and see that he was hurt that their parents didn’t come over to spend time with them.

“Warn us about what?” Dean asked. He really didn’t like where this was going.

“Apparently, people are going missing. People like Cas.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and tried to ignore the way that his breath immediately caught in his throat.

“What do you mean? People like Cas?” he said.

“People who aren’t entirely human.” Sam said firmly, confirming Dean’s fears.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.  He hated this. He hated absolutely hated it. He hated the way that people always judged Cas by what kind of blood ran through his veins, like he was a monster to be eliminated.

_The same way he had wanted to._

Even after all these years the thought still froze his blood.

“What exactly did Dad say?” he growled.

Sam flinched at his tone and then continued. “He said that him and mom began to notice a pattern about four months ago. At first, it was only one or two people in random towns, but then when they really looked into it, they realized that they were happening all over and with increasing frequency. Right now, they’re heading up to Wyoming to investigate the latest death and hopefully try to get a better idea of who the killer could be.”

Dean didn’t say anything and just took what his brother said in. Not many people knew about the supernatural community, which means that there was a very limited number of killer was after mixed-blood people. Despite that though, the ones who did know were hardly organized which meant that there could easily be someone that didn’t interact with the supernatural community. So, basically, the killer could only be from their small community or anyone.

Just thinking about it made Dean’s head hurt.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice snapped him back. “Look, we don’t even know if what Dad says is true. He himself admitted to not knowing exactly what he was looking at, so there’s no need to get worked up about it. I just thought you should at least know.”

Sam looked at Dean in the eyes and Dean could see all the worry filling them. He sighed, the breath heaving out of him in a great roll and turned back towards the front door. He rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave him a light shake.

“No Sam, I’m glad you told me, so thanks. I don’t really know what to make of it, but I’m sure it’s nothing.” He didn’t like the way that the words were coming out of his mouth, but Sam nodded at the anyway. “Now you have a trip to go on and I have a home to get back too, so let’s leave the worrying for later, okay?”

Dean felt his brother’s body relax under his grip and the man grinned at him. “Yeah Dean let’s get this show on the road.

Together they walked out the front door and went to their respective spouses. Both them immediately lightened up when they saw the brothers, but Dean caught the quick flicker of concern in Cas’ eyes. Cas must have saw the tenseness in Dean’s body, but, thankfully, he chose to ignore it and instead gave him a quick kiss. He asked if Dean was ready to go and Dean said yes. They said their goodbyes (which took much longer than it really should have) and got on the road again.

And as the road slipped by and forest thinned into city, Dean slowly forgot about his father’s warning.

Really, he should have known. He should have taken it more seriously. His instincts should have not have ignored the obvious red flags and the danger that was glaring at him right in the face.

 He should have known, but he didn’t and within a day’s time, Cas was gone.

*****

The first warning should have been the one that came from his father, but Dean had chalked it up to coincidence. The second warning came in the form of an email, early the next morning.

It started like any other morning. Dean woke up on Cas’ side of the bed, chasing after the last bit of his heat and the lingering smell of him in the sheets. He gathered the blankets up around him and, for a few moments, just reveled in the lazy, languid morning. Briefly, he wondered how his life got to be this good, how despite all the times he fucked up, he stumbled upon this perfect person who changed him from killer into a human again. Cas was at work now and Dean vaguely remembered the rustling of his clothes, a soft kiss against his brow before a whispered goodbye. After Cas left, he fell back into a light sleep, dozing in the bed until he knew he had to get up. He didn’t really want to, but eventually he dragged himself up from the bed and made his way into the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee.

The house was empty around him, still and warm in the early light. He loved these hours. The moments in the day where the day was just beginning and tipping on the edge of potential. It never failed to make him feel particularly writer-ly and he got some of his best work done during this time. When his coffee was just the way he liked it, he sat down at his desk and opened up his laptop.

Before he started writing, he logged into his email and reviewed what was in the mailbox, going from the bottom up. Most of it was junk, just some promotions from various stores he subscribed to and updates from different organizations he supported. He still got alerts from Twitter, even though he never used his account and had tried to unsubscribe from alerts about five times now. There was also some not junk that he had to attend to. Things like invitations to writer’s events, updates on the status of his bank account, and the ever-persistent emails from Naomi subtly threatening him with bodily harm if he missed his deadline. Again.

At the very top of his inbox though, was a strange email from someone that he had never heard of before, ARC.

EMAIL FOR CASTIEL WINCHESTER was written in the subject line, telling Dean absolutely nothing about why he was being contacted. He knew he shouldn’t look at Cas’ mail, but they were married and had been sharing an email since before they were engaged, so it was kinda okay. With a bit of hesitation, Dean opened the email up and read through the message:

 

Dear Mr. Castiel Winchester,

     I am contacting you today on the behalf of the Anthem Regeneration Corporation, a business committed to integrating the supernatural and the general public throughout the United States. Our goal is to create a dialogue between the two communities and provide understanding of the supernatural by establishing trust. Ultimately, we hope that one day the two communities will become one. To do this, we have pledged ourselves to initiate conversations with various members of the supernatural community and we hope that you can help us in this goal.

     We believe that you, Mr. Winchester, can help us make a difference. As a descendent of a supernatural creature now fully integrated into the general public, your point of view is invaluable to us and we would like to hear about your experiences. If you are interested in helping us to make a change for the better. Please email us back at [ARCorpCC@ARC.org](mailto:ARCorpCC@ARC.org).

 

We look forward to hearing about how you can make a change,

Anthem Regeneration Corporation

 

Dean scrunched his eyebrows together and took a hasty sip from his coffee cup as he finished reading through the email. It sounded good on the surface, but there was something fishy about it. It was a subtle sense of unease, like the feeling that comes when you see a neighborhood where all the houses look exactly the same or when you stare into a darkened hallway just a little too long. Foreboding, yet ephemeral, he just couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was and so he chalked the email up to being someone grasped for personal information. He would have deleted it right then and there, except that it was Cas’ email. His husband usually didn’t go for this kind of stuff, but it was still up to him on whether his emails got deleted or not. He left the message there and promised himself that he would talk to Cas later about it.

Once he finished reading through their shared email, Dean switched over to his business email and went through those. After taking care of them (and getting distracted by a funny cat video that Sam sent him), Dean finally began to write and let his ideas become a fully functioning story. It was always hard in these first beginning stages when he didn’t quite know where exactly a story was going. It was in these times when he realized how much potential his writing had, but also how lost he could easily become in it. His mind just kept asking _what if?_ and drove him forward into a new possible plotline. The hardest part was discerning and trying to figure out which were perfect and which needed to be saved for another time. It calmed him, though, and was intensely therapeutic. Weaving through story ideas and various plotlines was like combing out the tangles in a young girl’s hair, slow, gentle and incredibly paternal work.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours passed and around five, Dean decided to call it a day. He hadn’t been as productive as he had hoped to be, but then again, when was he ever. He got a good dent done though, and it would be enough to sate Naomi’s constant nagging. He closed his laptop and got up from his writer’s chair. His muscles strained from being in a bent position for so long, and he couldn’t help groaning when he shook them out. He could feel the muscles ripple under his skin and the fine push and pull of ligaments reacting to electrical signals. There were creaks and pops and strains, which drew a sigh from his lungs. Man, it was time’s like this where he thought that he was really getting old. Silently, he took his dirty dishes from his desk and walked them over to the kitchen.

Cas would be home from work soon, so Dean took the initiative in starting dinner. He padded into the cooking area trying to think of what he would make for tonight. He paused in front of the fridge and silently debated with himself. It had to be a meat dish, for obvious marital reasons, but Dean was trying to decide whether Cas would want his “special meat” for tonight or later. His husband mentioned having to eat on Tuesday, but today was Monday and it was very possible that he could want his meat a day early. Dean turned and looked towards the door that led down to the basement. It was a simple door, perfectly white and unassuming looking as any other door would be. But Dean knew what was behind that door and down those steps. He knew the sights and the smells and the way that walking down those stairs felt disturbingly like walking to an execution.

Dean didn’t want to go the basement.

Even now, despite having married the cannibal and living with him for years, Cas’ diet sent a shiver up Dean’s spine if he thought about it too much. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Cas or that he thought he would turn on him or anything. Hell, it wasn’t even the fact that cannibalism was a bloody practice because Dean had seen his fair share of guts and gore. It was subtler than that, something left over from evolution that had hardened into deep-rooted instinct. It ran through his veins, influenced his chemistry and tapped into the primate part of his _homo sapien._  Usually it was easy to ignore the way that it urged him to run when Cas drew close and the instinct was definitely dwarfed by his overwhelming love for the cannibal, but it still tugged.

And the way the scent of blood drew the demon from the pit of his stomach. The way it made him-

No.

He can’t think like this. He can’t allow himself to think like this. He promised himself he wouldn’t think like this.

Dean swiveled away from the basement door and practically lunged for the fridge door. The whole appliance got pushed back from the way that he grasped the handle and the machine squeaked in indignation. He froze at the sound and tried to ignore the way that he could hear his own heart beat in his ears and the sob in his throat. Deep breathes, he told himself, take deep breaths, and slowly his was able to loosen fist.

As calm as he could in that moment, Dean opened the fridge door and surveyed what they had in stock. Thankfully, there were no wayward body parts in the fridge (the chance of opening something and finding a limb in it was about 40-60 in this household, but Dean was working on that), even though those creepy ass eyeballs were still in there. He pointed did not look at those, and instead went for the fresh veal cutlets wrapped in butcher’s paper on the bottom shelf.

He brought them to the island in the middle of the kitchen and carefully unwrapped the brown paper. The meat fell beautifully on to the marble, glistening against the stone. Dean smiled to himself and took one of the cutlets into his hand. It was a tender piece of meat, magnificently red with thin lines of fat running through it. It would be delicious when he was done with it. One of the perks of marrying a cannibal was that he demanded only the finest when it came to animal meat and some of the cuts that he brought home made Dean’s inner epicurean absolutely swoon in delight.

Castiel walked in on Dean 45 minutes later bent over the stove and panfrying the lightly breaded cutlets. He was completely entranced with the preparation of the food and apparently didn’t hear him come through the front door or make his way to the kitchen.

A perfect opportunity.

The cannibal silently padded to his husband and leaned in.

“Hello Dean,” he said directly into Dean’s ear causing the other man to jump in surprise. Cas only got a split second before Dean was whipping around quickly with a knife glinting in his hand. It flashed menacingly in the kitchen and looked absolutely evil in Dean’s hands. It swung in a sinister arc, ready to crash down into its enemy’s heart. Castiel caught Dean’s wrist easily and held the blade back before his husband could sink it into him. They stood there, chest to chest and Cas watched as the murderous intent and adrenaline slowly filtered out of Dean’s eyes.            

“Cas!” he squawked and tugged his wrist out of Cas’ grasp. He set the knife down and then put his hands on his hips. “I told you not to do that.”

 His husband, of course, had the gall to smile innocently as if he didn’t get his rocks off by antagonizing Dean into almost stabbing him with a knife.

“I need to keep you on your toes, little hunter.” He said.

Dean snorted and, involuntarily, felt his back stiffen. He tried to keep the tautness out of his muscles and hide the way that they snapped at the word, but it was still there. Quickly he tried to dispel the feeling and force his muscles to relax. It only sorta worked. He put up a teasing smile, though, hoping it would keep Cas’ attention away from the nervous twitch in his fingers. If his husband noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Cas, you know I’m not a hunter anymore.” He said, ignoring the way that his voice sounded less sure than he wanted it to. “I stopped being one a long time ago.” It sounded more like a reassurance.

The cannibal focused on him, fixing him in one of those long, soul-searching stares that ate up the rest of the universe around it. And, suddenly, it was just Dean and Cas, Cas and Dean. Dean could feel his body want to shrink back from the intensity of that gaze, and fought to hold his ground. He knew that Cas didn’t understand the way that Dean hid from his past or the way that he let the memories still eat away at him.

In that moment, Dean was sure that Cas would say something to break the barely-held-together peace he had made with himself.  His husband had a talent for doing that, for tearing down people’s walls and laying their soul bare for the world to see. He could dissect someone’s mind as easily as he could dissect a body, and, usually, he didn’t hesitate on doing just that.  But Dean could see Cas pausing now. The gears were turning in the cannibal’s head and he was trying to decide whether to flay him open or not. Dean wasn’t quite sure, which he would rather.

“You know, Dean,” he said with a pause, “maybe I just like seeing you jump.” He finished with a barely there, but absolutely wicked smirk.

            Dean stood frozen, still waiting for Cas to make him admit, until he slowly realized that his husband was letting this one go. He could have leaped in delight, but he settled for a well-placed glare.  “You’re sick,” He said primly, before turning back to his abandoned veal cutlets, “and one day you are going to end up a human pincushion if you keep jumping me like that.”

“If you stab me, I’m going to sue you for domestic violence.”

“Yeah right,” he rolled his eyes at that, “and how are you going to hide your little kitchen in the basement.” He said as he turned and pointed to the offending door with his spatula.

 Cas blinked and shot Dean a shit eating grin. “I’ll just tell them that my dear old husband has this weird obsession with me and holding me captive for years. And then I’ll lead the nice officer to the armory you have hidden in the closet and point out that the Impala is definitely big enough to hide a body in. I know that your prints are all over both, while my kitchen, as you say, is mysteriously absent of fingerprints.”

Dean stared at his husband for a few beats and let out a heavy sigh. “Why did I marry you again?”

Cas practically bounced over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “You say that like you had a choice, Dean.”

He snorted in response and began plating the veal. Cas, however, had different plans and began to kiss up Dean’s neck, occasionally nipping at the exposed skin. Dean laughed and slid the plates away, before grabbing Cas’ face and drawing him into a deep kiss. When he released him, Cas’ eyes were still glittering and his face was draw into a giddy smile.

 “What’s got you so excited, babe?” he asked, leaning down until their foreheads met.

  Cas grinned back like a kid in a candy store. “I got a dead body in the car. Help me carry it in?”

Dean huffed in response and followed as his husband tugged him into the garage. He opened the doors on the Continental and inside were two innocuous looking cardboard boxes. Dean peered down and did some mental physics in his head.

“This isn’t the whole thing, is it?” he asked, because he was sure that an entire human body wasn’t going to fit within those two boxes.

Cas shook his head and leaned in to take the nearest box into his arms. “No, they’re only the parts I want. I did the butchering at the morgue and burned all the leftovers.” He handed the box off to Dean and leaned down for the other one (Dean appreciated the view). “It should last me a few weeks once I freeze it.”

 Despite his better judgement, Dean’s curiosity practically forced him to lift the lid on the box and take a peek inside. Inside was just a few steaks that looked like they could have been bought from a butcher counter. He shifted the box to one arm and tentatively poked one of them.

He lifted his head when he heard Cas laughing next to him. His husband smiled warmly, affection clear in his eyes. “What were you expecting, Dean? A frozen head? I would think after all these years,”

Dean shrugged and closed the box up. “I never know with you, just two days ago I found an arm in the fridge and I definitely remember there being an incident with a foot somehow ending up my shoe rack last month”

Cas narrowed his eyes and huffed. “I told you that was an accident. I swear I did not do that on purpose.”

 “Why don’t I believe you then?” Dean said as he passed his husband on the way to the kitchen. He looked towards the doorway leading down to the basement, but didn’t make a move towards it. Cas passed him, balancing the box on his hip to open the door and looked right before he began to walk down. He raised his eyebrow in a silent question when he saw that Dean wasn’t following.

 He wanted to tell Cas that he would be down in a minute, that the basement didn’t affect him, that he didn’t get a rush of adrenaline when he smelled the blood, but he couldn’t. All the words, the ones he wanted to say and the ones he didn’t, died in his throat and all he could do was stare at the floor and shake his head silently.

There was a soft thump and carefully footsteps and then suddenly his husband was in front of him and lifting his face. Cas’ eyes searched his, and Dean found that he couldn’t meet them. He looked over Cas’ shoulder, fixated on the abandoned box in the basement doorway, determined not to look at Cas.

“Hey,” Cas whispered, drawing Dean’s eyes back to him. He didn’t say another word and instead kissed Dean gently on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, but endlessly affectionate and Dean reveled in it. Cas moved and then pressed two kisses against his eyelids before returning to his lips.

He pulled back, but didn’t release Dean’s face from his hands. “Just remember, Dean Winchester, I thank god every day that I got stuck with you and I love you.”

Dean remained silent and watched his husband smile before the man descended into the basement, footsteps fading until there was silence. Dean didn’t know how Cas did it. How could that man remain so perfect for someone as broken as him? There he was completing Dean’s life and Dean couldn’t even muster up the courage to step into a damn basement. He was a coward.

 

Footsteps sounded from the basement stairs and Dean lifted his head to see Cas coming back onto the main floor.

How long had he been standing here?

Cas smiled when he met his eyes, and Dean’s thoughts tapered out to be replaced by affection. His husband had that effect on him, an innate ability to soothe the storm in his head and sometimes Dean thinks that that’s what’s kept him going all these years. He wasn’t quite sure how long he could have lasted on his own or who he would even be if he did. But one thing he knew for sure was that Dean without Cas was worse. Dean without Cas was a half-formed, ravenous thing that ate and killed and left disaster behind it. Dean without Cas was a monster.

Cas crossed the floor over to him and sidled closer, completely oblivious to the tempest in Dean’s head (or maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was just choosing not to say something). He nudged against Dean’s side and practically nuzzled him with the top of his head, like he was some kind of giant cat. Dean squinted his eyes, silently asking _why?_ and Cas just gave him a teasing wink back. With any words, he crossed to Dean’s other side and stood in front of the body part box that Dean had been carrying earlier. Cas struggled with the top for a few moments (Dean being the good husband he was just smirked and watched amusedly) before he stuck a hand in to pull out a piece of meat.

 “I’m going to go cook one of these after dinner. I want to eat one tomorrow morning.” he said easily as he lifted one of the steaks. It was covered in brown butcher’s paper that crinkled in Cas’ hand. He hefted it, moving his hand up and down while mentally tallying the weight. He must have found something wrong with it, because the cannibal wrinkled his nose in displeasure and placed the steak back down, before moving one to a different one. This one was larger than the first, easily the size of a large ribeye and thicker cut.

“What’s that” Dean asked, looking at the meat in Cas’ hands.

“What’s what?” replied Cas absently as he carefully began to peel the paper off, revealing the flesh underneath. It was almost purely red with very thin lines of fat marbling through it. On its top side was a larger strip of white fat and in the middle, was an almost round bone. It glistened in Cas’ hand and Dean saw his husband practically drool at the sight of the lean, raw meat.

“What cut is it?” he asked, clarifying his question. Cas paused in his examination of the steak and dragged his eyes up to meet his. He lifted an eyebrow, silently challenging whether Dean really wanted to know or not.

Dean ignored the involuntary way that his stomach sorta turned on itself and just nodded.

His husband took a step towards him with the steak still in his hand and closed the distance between them. Cas hummed and drew in, locking eyes with Dean in a way that would have seemed predatory if Dean didn’t know Cas so well. His gaze was sharp and unbroken, reminding Dean that he was a wild thing that he could never hope to possibly tame. He loved that.

“It’s the thigh, Dean.” He whispered and he reached a hand down to tap Dean’s own thigh. His body practically quivered under the cannibal’s touch and he couldn’t ignore the trill of adrenaline that suddenly raced through him. He lunged forward for a kiss, and Cas quickly turned his head so that it landed on his cheek instead.

“Dean, don’t be insatiable. Your acting like a wild animal.” He said teasingly. He turned to move out of Dean’s space, but Dean grabbed him by the hips and pulled him in with a growl. He tried for another kiss, but Cas turned away again before managing to wriggle out of Dean’s hold.

“Not now, Winchester, I have raw meat on my hands.” He said as he walked further into the kitchen and away from him. Dean huffed in response and went to sit down on at the bar that looked into the cooking space. He watched his husband putter around for a few minutes before Cas slid a plate of dinner in front of him.

When Dean didn’t move, Cas shook his head in affectionate annoyance. “Eat Dean, I’ll only be a little longer.” He said.

Without further ado, Dean started on his veal cutlets, while watching Cas expertly begin to slice the excess fat from the meat. He just couldn’t help himself, he could never take his eyes off his husband. The cannibal moved with an easy, animal-like grace that made Dean look like a fumbling oaf. He didn’t know if it was that little bit of Creature blood in Cas’ veins or just naturally achieved finesse, but whatever it was it always held Dean captive. Cas walked like the very air itself, rising and flowing, capable of brushing against your cheek or rising into a force of nature. He had this sureness is his feet, as if he always knew exactly where to put each step and how much space he would impact. It was as if the world moved around him instead of him moving in the world.

Dean even thought that Cas’ imperfections made him more perfect. His wrinkles were his mortality when Dean imagined him a god. His scars were his humanity when Dean thought him divine. Because if he didn’t have those small flaws, he would be untouchable. He would be like a cold god, a marble figure for veneration staked to a pedestal, and Dean would be his forlorn follower. Unworthy to even be in his presence.

“Dean, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but don’t.” Cas said, interrupting Dean’s thoughts and steering him away from his own mind. The world suddenly blinked back into focus and he realized that he must have been glaring at the spice rack for way too long. Cas was now sitting next to him ( _When did Cas get here?)_ politely eating his dinner and ignoring how much of a misfit psycho his husband was.

“How do you know what I’m thinking is bad?” he asked. He didn’t look at his husband and just stared into the distance again, not really seeing anything. Evening had fallen upon them and the soft light of the setting sun cast light throughout the kitchen. The room was quieter now, filled with gentler colors and darker tones. The sounds seemed longer, his thoughts seemed lonelier.

“You get this face. Like you’re trying to pass a kidney stone.”

“Cas,” he sighed, the sound billowing in the dusk “I thought we agreed to never bring that up again.”

“But it gives me such great material to work with.” Cas said with a smirk and Dean gave him a sour look that didn’t hold any heat. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. It had been one hell of a kidney stone experience.

Cas squarely met his eyes and didn’t hesitate from fixing Dean into his gaze. His eyes were eternities and staring into them was awesome in the truly biblical sense of the word. Sometimes Dean thought if he looked too deeply into them he would find something otherworldly and powerful enough to burn his eyes right out of his skull. It was times like this that he wondered how people ever mistook his husband for a human.

Cas smiled, the edges of his lips tugging up in an almost two-part movement that made Dean smile too. His husband shifted first. He leaned forward and, in the soft light of the evening, kissed him

They broke apart, leaving Dean panting. “What was that for?” he asked as he stared at his husband adoringly.

Cas’ smile didn’t leave his face, but his expression softened and turned almost imperceptibly sadder. He brought up his hands and softly cupped Dean’s jaw. “It just looked like you needed that.” He said quietly as if he was afraid of what those words meant.

There was a long passage of silence before Cas spoke again. “What are you thinking?” he said, but there was a question underneath.

What’s wrong, Dean?

 He pulled away from Cas’ touch at that and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t miss the small hurt that flitted on his husband’s face as he drew his hand back and ignored the well of guilt in his stomach. He looked up instead, focusing on the ceiling when he couldn’t bare Cas’ eyes.

“Do you ever regret it?” He asked, the question sinking through the air like a stone. The levity that was there just moments before was shot from the sky and Dean could almost hear it shatter on the pavement. Cas didn’t answer for a long time, but when he did his voice was small and scared.

“Regret what, Dean?” he said and it almost broke Dean’s heart. He looked at Cas’ sideways and founded that his husband was staring at his hands, practically curling in on himself. Dean’s thoughts suddenly came to a halt when he realized that Cas was gazing at his wedding ring. No, that wasn’t what he was implying. He would never, never regret Cas. Dean reached forward took his husband’s left hand in his. He squeezed the hand in reassurance, and absentmindedly began turning the wedding band on his husband’s finger. Cas let out a sigh of relief and instantly looked less terrified.

“Do you regret this life, Cas?” he clarified, looking back up to the ceiling.

He didn’t see Cas’ reaction to the question, but he was sure that his husband was either crinkling his face up or doing that cute little confused head tilt. His lips lifted into a small smile just imagining it. Then, as he was thinking about the movement, fingers on his chin turned his face and Dean saw the head tilt in real life.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand what you’re asking?” Cas said seriously, the playfulness gone from his face and a serious line set into his jaw. The blue in his eyes were deathly serious.

Dean sighed. “It’s just, this life, it isn’t normal. We’re not normal.” he said, motioning between him and his husband.

Now, Cas looked even more confused. His shoulders were loose and his eyes flitted over Dean’s face as if a plainer question was hidden somewhere on his skin. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it and said his next words slowly. “Dean, I’ve never been normal. I was born who I am and this is the only path I’ve ever known.” He paused and then, after thinking, continued, “and this way has given me a wonderful life. I have a beautiful husband, a happy marriage and more of a family than I’ve ever had before. Why would I regret that?”

Dean’s heart fluttered at his words and, for a moment, he thought it was going to burst right out of his chest. This man, his husband was so much more than he deserved. He didn’t know how Cas came to love a flawed being like him, but for a second he didn’t care. He focused on the way his body filled with warmth and he was tempted to kiss Cas right then and there and forget about all the dark, swirling thoughts in his head.

He didn’t though, and found himself continuing on. Almost as if he couldn’t control himself. The small vile thing in his stomach chuckled.

“But Cas, do you ever wish that we were all human?” Cas opened his mouth, undoubtedly to comment of Dean’s phrasing, before Dean corrected himself. “Yes, Cas, I know that I am human and you are like 99% human, but what I mean is that do you ever wish we were all living the apple-pie life? You know, the one where we have a dog and a white fence and don’t have to worry about the rising price on human flesh.”

The cannibal was silent and still. He was sitting at the edge of his seat, body facing towards Dean and frozen in time. He gaze was forward, but fixed and distant as if he was watching a memory only he could see.

“When I was younger, yes,” he admitted, focusing on Dean again and blinking slowly, “but now? No. I never wish for anything like that. If I wasn’t who I am, then I would have never been led to you Dean.” He said surely.

Dean snorted at this, the noise coming out by its own volition. He could feel the rest of a dark laugh curl in his stomach, but it swallowed it down. “Cas, we both know that I wasn’t led to you by anything. I was hunting you.” He couldn’t keep the acid out of his voice and the very word _hunting_ seemed to burn in his throat.

His husband hummed in response and squeezed his hand. “Details, Dean. You weren’t hunting me yet when we first met.” He spoke more easily now and the tone brought levity into the air.

Dean rolled his eyes, holding back a small grin. “Yeah, but that was only because I didn’t know what you were yet.”

“Again, with the details. Does it really matter? You didn’t kill me when push came to shove.”

“That’s because of how pitiful you looked when I finally caught you. I swear you gave me puppy eyes and everything.”

“I did not look pitiful, Dean Winchester. I looked rightfully defensive.”

 Dean laughed at that, letting the once-dark chuckle inside him turn into a full, bubbly sound. It rang through the kitchen instantly making it seem like a happier place. Next to him, Cas cracked a smile and then also joined him in a laugh. And together with both of them laughing, Dean felt a little bit whole.

He knew that it was all a veneer, though, like a gold gilding that covered cold iron. Because underneath all the laughing and the alleged puppy-eyes, there was the undeniable and ugly fact that the only reason that Dean met Cas was because of a hunt. And not just any hunt, he had been hunting Cas (he just didn’t know that yet).

It started simple enough. Dean had been given the assignment by his boss and dispatched to an area where there was an unusually amount of dead bodies. They weren’t murders, so to say, but they were human remains and too much of that concentrated into one area was rarely a good thing.  With the work that Dean had been doing at the time, a case like this was pretty tame. Past experience had him going into it fully expecting to be confronted with some kind of witch preparing for a ritual or a lesser god. When he got there though, none of the signs for anything like that was there. There were no usually traces of magic, no hex bags, no sudden shortages of plants associated with spells or myth. Nothing,

At that point, Dean had nearly called it a fluke, He was willing to chock it all up to strange coincidence and come back to his boss empty-handed, but he had one night left on assignment and instead of heading back immediately, decided to enjoy himself. He went to a small bar, sat up on a barstool and thoroughly enjoyed some “hunter’s helper” before he laid eyes on what was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

He smiled even thinking about it now, though the time had been years ago. He remembered the way that his mind seemed to fill and empty at the same time. How he suddenly felt like shouting every word he knew and finding that he could say nothing at all. He was frozen in the moment, watching as the most perfect person in the world haggled the bartender about an apparently burnt basket of onion rings.

It took all of Dean’s courage to say that he would buy the guy a new basket of onion rings if he could share them with him. The guy looked skeptical at first, raising an eyebrow and fixing Dean with a soul-shattering stare that Dean would eventually come to love, before tentatively accepting. They both stayed at the bar until closing that night. They talked for hours, telling little bits about their lives and laughing at each other’s moments from childhood. Dean eventually invited Cas over to his hotel room and Cas had refused telling Dean that he wasn’t going to be seduced by a pair of pretty eyes and embarrassing childhood tales.

Dean stayed in the town for an extra week, lying to his boss about the possibility of a case and falling in love with Cas at the same time. And for about a week everything was perfect in his life. Everything was perfect until a dead body “Dean, come back to me” Cas said, his voice soothing and clam. Dean felt himself gently drifting in as if he was a ship coming home to a long familiar port. “It’s not good for you to space out like that. It worries me.”

 “Don’t worry, Cas, it’s nothing.”

 Cas looked at him long and hard, clearly not believing him, but unable to say exactly why.

“Okay, if you insist.” He whispered, the sound fading into the evening air. Dean took his hand and pulled him off the bar seat and heading to bed. Cas gripped his hand tightly, never breaking their contact as he followed Dean up the stairs. He smiled adoringly and Dean felt his heart swell at the sight. They moved in tandem and sunk into each other when they laid down to rest.

Dean only wishes he would have said “I love you” before he fell asleep, so that would have been the last words his husband would have heard before the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun rose blood-red the next morning, and now that Dean thinks about it, maybe it should have been a warning to him. Then again, now that he looks back at most things in that week leading up, he sees all the omens and signals that he missed. Maybe if he had noticed them before, he could have been taken Cas and ran. Maybe they could have escaped for a few days until the danger had passed, holed up in a motel room until the storm was over.

But that he didn’t see. He didn’t notice. He didn’t take Cas and run to safety. He was blind and when the blood-red, rusty sun rose that morning all he thought was _Get away you motherfucker. I want to sleep for another hour._

This morning started like the last with Dean cursing at the incoming light and his body chasing after the last of Cas’ scent. He woke up bleary-eyed and clutching Cas’ pillow, desperately trying to wish the sun ray’s away. When it didn’t go, of course, Dean tumbled out of bed and fought his way to the coffee machine.

The house was silent except for Dean’s movements and the twittering of birds outside. Every once in a while, the kitchen appliances would give a half-hearted groan and chug before sinking again into quiet. Dean began humming something from Zeppelin as he padded across the kitchen, letting the familiar tune fill his morning routine. With a smile, he saw that Cas had made him a cup of coffee, done just the way he liked it. It was cold now, but Dean just popped it into the microwave and gave it a zap. As the mug turned in the machine, he moved towards the desk where he had left his laptop sitting last night and booted it up. Dean opened his email, like he did every day, and went to retrieve his morning brew while his emailed loaded.

When he returned, the emails there waiting to be taken care of and Dean sat down to look at them. The first one, immediately caught his attention because apparently it was from Cas. Dean crinkled his face in confusion and checked his phone for any missed calls. It was weird that Cas was emailing him and not texting him. Cas, by nature, didn’t trust computers (or cellphones really, but he had a better relationship with the smaller devices) and rarely used his email except for business. His husband contacted him in other ways, he left notes on the kitchen island or just woke up Dean right before he went out the door. He never emailed him.

 

Dean,

I’m sorry to tell you that I won’t be coming home tonight. Something came up at work and the hospital is rushing me to a conference in Nevada. This is a wonderful opportunity and I’m sorry I’m not able to say goodbye in person. Do not bother with sending me up clothes or any provisions. I will just buy my own when I get to my hotel.

I’ll be home soon.

 

Love,

Castiel

 

 _A conference?_ Dean thought, _in Nevada?_ It was weird because Cas hadn’t said a word about the possibility of being asked to go to a conference or displayed any interest in wanting to go. Hell, he hadn’t even mentioned to Dean that there were such things like conferences for morticians. What would they even talk about? Better ways to burn bodies?

Dean took another sip of his coffee, ignoring the way that it suddenly tasted more bitter. He put it down and pushed it away from the computer, it didn’t sit right now.

The email was weird, but not that weird. Yeah, it wasn’t Cas’ typical style (he had a habit of writing emails that were way too long for their own good and wording them as if he were writing to one of the Founding Fathers), but the guy was probably rushed and stressed.

And so, Dean let the occurrence go and continued on with his day. At least now he would have time to write.

 

Days passed more slowly with Cas not being there. Dean fell into this monotony of just drifting through the sunlight hours and then settling into bed because there was nothing else to do. He found himself missing Cas something fierce and the feeling struck him at the oddest of times. He missed the sound of Cas’ feet on the stairwell, the quiet curses he pretended he didn’t say, the endless fixing of his hair. All the little essential Cas habits had somehow had fit themselves into Dean’s life, and now that he was gone, Dean noticed his life was cracked.

What was worse was that he honestly didn’t know when Cas was going to be coming back. His husband’s scant email had told him where he was going (the vague area of “Nevada”) and what he was doing (the even more vague “conference”), but not how long he was going to be gone for or when he was going to be coming home.

And that got Dean to worrying.

It was the third day into Dean’s isolation that he finally admitted to himself that he was starting to get nervous. It had been exactly 78 hours since he last saw Cas (more if he thought about the fact that he technically didn’t _see_ Cas before he left that morning) and he definitely wasn’t counting. Dean sat at his kitchen bar, absently pivoting his barstool back and forth. Above him, the clock glared, its white face displaying the hours of Dean-without-Cas. He had done this very routine every single night of the days that Cas hadn’t been there. He knew that it was stupid and uselessly pathetic, but the passage of time made him feel better in a way. As if him staring at the clock was helping Cas get back sooner, as if his actions somehow influenced the period of Cas’ absence.

And, right now, it was just about the only thing he had. During the last 78 hours, Dean had religiously been trying Cas’ cell phone, hoping to hear that gruff voice on the other end, and sending Cas little messages.

Dean: Cas, hey, how are you? How’s the conference?

Dean: Cas?

Dean: CAS?

Dean: I know that talking about dead people is fun, but how about trying to talk                              to me for a bit?

Dean: I’m sorry. I sounded like a jerk in that last one. But I would really love to hear your voice.

Dean: Cas, babe, I miss you. Can you give me a call when you have the chance?

Dean: When do you think that you will be coming home?

Dean: Cas?

Dean used to try to ignore the way that he was increasing sounding more and more desperate with each message. But now, he found that he couldn’t ignore the way that the words were starting to get away from him. They were beating him in the way that they went unanswered. They were lodging themselves in his heart, jabbing into the muscle like dull icepicks.

He kept telling himself not to let it get to his head. Cas was probably just having a lot of fun at his dead people conference in Nevada. Maybe Dean just kept messaging him at bad times. Or maybe Cas just needed a little space.

That last one caught him the worst. It sunk its teeth into his body and bit down until it tasted blood and bone.

But, but, what had he done? What could he have possibly done to drive Cas away without even a goodbye? How had he fucked up this time?

Why couldn’t he make anyone stay?

The thoughts hit him like a punch, driving out all the air in his body and squeezing him until he had nothing left. He felt ice trickle down his spine and the shame drive itself into his organs. He felt his uselessness cut invisible words into his chest as effectively as any knife.

In him, a dark thing stirred

Slowly, he realized that his body was beginning to hyperventilate.

 _Breathe, Dean, just breathe._ Cas’ voice whispered in his ear and Dean’s followed its command. The scene was a familiar one after all, one that they had replayed in the dark hours of the morning on tussled sheets and tear-stained pillows. With Dean reliving his nightmares and with Cas wiping the last watery evidence of them for his eyes while he whispered confidence into Dean’s ear.

That was his Cas. The realization caught him in the ribs and washed over his body. That was the Cas that he needed to have faith in.

Dean chuckled to himself in the still, stagnant afternoon. Cas had always told him that he needed to have more faith. Dean shook his head, as if the simple movement to shake the very thoughts from his head, and surprisingly it seemed to help a bit. He stood and moved away from the bar, listening to the way that his bare feet padded on the tile. He had to have faith in Cas, and to do that he needed to stop letting his thoughts run him into a panic.

The reason Cas had gone radio-silent was probably a simple one. Like maybe he had just forgotten his phone charger. The thought hit Dean all at once and stopped him in his tracks. Cas had a habit of forgetting things and a hatred of technology in general. Both of those things combined usually meant that his phone charger was forgotten every single damn time.

Dean couldn’t help the grin that was rising to his face as he climbed the stairs to their bedroom. He opened the door and practically sprinted to Cas’ side of the bed. And, sure enough, there was the phone charger, still hanging innocently from the wall outlet it was connected to.

Dean could have damn well cried at the sight of that fucking phone charger because it meant that Cas’ phone wasn’t charged. That he probably wanted to talk to Dean, but he just couldn’t because his phone was fucking charged. Dean laughed and let his relief color his voice. It was the most hopefully noise he had heard since Cas left.

Figuring out what he was going to do next was a little trickier. He obviously couldn’t exactly text or call Cas and even his email was run through his phone. Cas didn’t have any obvious work buddies that would be able to contact him and all of the people that Dean knew wouldn’t have any more of an idea where Cas was than Dean did.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the white phone charger. The damn thing seemed to mock him with his presence. Eventually after thinking for about ten minutes, it finally came to him. He would call the hospital! They sent Cas to the conference, so they would definitely know what hotel he was staying at. And once Dean knew what hotel Cas was staying at he would be able to call the front desk and ask for Castiel.

It was so simple that Dean almost cried in relief and cursed himself for not thinking about it earlier. He could have been talking with Cas for days now and instead he had just wasted time on wallowing in self-pity.

He practically bounced back down the stairs and quickly located his laptop. He brought it over to the dining room table and took his cell phone out of his pocket. First, he looked up the hospital phone number and then he dialed it into his phone.

The phone rang twice, before another voice spoke on the line. “Hello this is King Memorial Hospital, what can I do for you today?”

“Hello, my name is Dean Winchester and my husband, Castiel Winchester, works in the hospital morgue. The hospital sent him to a conference three days ago and I would like to know the name and the number of the hotel he’s staying at?”

“Alright, Mr. Winchester, I’ll bring that right up for you. Can you please spell his first name for me?”

Dean went on spelling Cas’ unusual name and heard the person click the letters into the computer that was undoubtedly in front of them. “Ah, here he is.” Said the voice, “hmm, that’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” said Dean, “is there something wrong?”

“Well, Mr. Winchester, I have your husband’s info right in front of me and it doesn’t say anything about a conference right now. In fact, it says that he hasn’t come in for work in the last three days.”

Dean tried to swallow the rising panic in his chest and valiantly ignored the way that

his voice was starting to shake. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“I’m sure that there was a mistake.” Said the voice and it instantly calmed Dean’s nerves, “I’m just going to go ahead and transfer you to the morgue department head. She’ll definitely know more details about the conference.”

Dean let out a breath of relief and thanked the desk person profusely as they transferred him over to another line. The phone was silent for a few moments before it began ringing again. After the first ring, a different voice picked up. “Hello, this is Dr. White speaking.”

“Hello, Dr. White, this is Dean Winchester and I was just calling about my husband, Castiel Win-” He didn’t even get through their last name before the person on the other line interrupted him.

“Oh, you’re Castiel’s husband.” She sounded happy at the realization, “Thank god, I was getting worried. We haven’t seen him in a few days and that’s so unlikely of him, what’s made him run off in a hurry?” she asked kindly, but the words froze Dean’s blood.

His brain almost couldn’t understand what she was telling him, especially as his mind came to a screeching halt.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester, are you there?” she said, ripping through Dean’s panic.

“I was just calling to ask the name and the number of the hotel the conference was at.” He said and the words fell heavily from his tongue. They didn’t sound hopeful anymore. They sounded like an inevitable death sentence.

And her answer. He knew what her answer was going to be, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “What conference?”

He hung up the phone after that, unable to hear the woman further confirm what he knew was true.

He expected tears to spring to his eyes, for their wetness to flow down his face, but they never came. Instead, came this hollow feeling. A dark nothingness that lodged itself in Dean’s chest and made him feel like he was nothing more than an empty husk.

He sat down heavily on one of the chairs at the dining room table and stared blankly into the vacant house. Thoughts clamored at Dean’s mind, but he found himself being unable to hold on to a single one of them. He was slipping and he couldn’t do anything about.

He stared into the unlit house for he didn’t know how long. It was so empty now without Cas. Just an empty house with empty rooms and an empty man that drifted from empty place to empty place.

He didn’t realize he had dialed Sam’s number until his little brother’s voice came through the phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” He said. His voice sounded so happy. So goddamn happy and filled and entirely more whole than Dean could ever hope to feel.

“Dean? Hello?”

“He left Sam.” Dean heard himself say. When did he gain control of his voice again?

“Who left?” Sam said and Dean could have laughed at that. Because Sam didn’t suspect what Dean already knew, and somehow something was funny about that.

“Cas,” His name tumbled out of him in a rushed breath. “Cas left Sam.”

There was silence from the other end of the phone and that made Dean panic. He had spent so long in silence, listening to the white static of calls that didn’t go through. It can’t be happening again. It can’t. It just can’t be.

“Sam?” he said, his voice came out small and terrified and he was afraid that there wouldn’t be another voice to answer him.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m here.” Sam said and Dean had to choke down the sob that was rising in his throat. “I just can’t believe… Was there something wrong with you two?”

“No,” he replied, “at least I didn’t think. He just left, Sammy, he just left without saying goodbye.” He couldn’t hold back the sob this time and he cursed the sound as it came burbling out of him. He sounded like a wounded animal.

“Oh Dean,” his little brother sounded broken too now, “I’m going to come over and then we can figure everything out. But please stay on the line, don’t hang up on me alright?

Dean nodded and then he realized that Sam couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he said and he listened to his little brother endlessly tell him that he was going to be alright, that they were going to figure this out.

Dean couldn’t find it in himself to believe him.

 

47 minutes and 13 seconds later Sam came bursting through the door with Jess in tow. Dean knew exactly how long it took for his little brother to come because he hadn’t let Dean hang up the phone. It was still clocking down minutes when Sam came striding over to Dean and gently pried the cell out of his hand. Dean blinked when he saw the device get pulled from his grasp and familiar digits come into view.

“Dean,” His brother’s voice sounded deeper now, and laced with sadness. It lacked its usual bouncy ease and was weighed down by deeper darker notes. Dean frowned when he heard it. It was his job to keep Sammy happy.

“Hey Sam,” he said, trying to make himself sound more upbeat and confident. Usually it worked, people were easily fooled by a flimsy smile on a pretty face, but it didn’t this time. He looked up to meet Sam’s eyes and they only grew more solemn at the words.

He said the wrong thing, he realized and he felt panic start twisting his intestines. He fucked up again and now Sammy was going to leave.

“Calm down,” Sam said as he gently moved his hands from Dean’s and brought them to his brother’s face. “It’s alright, Dean, I’m here and I’m not going to leave you. Now tell me what happened.” His tone was gentle, but firm and Dean found himself nodding his head.

He broke away from his brother’s touch and leaned back in the chair he was sitting in. Sam hesitantly shifted and settled into the chair next to Dean. Another pair of hands fell on his cheek and softly began stroking his hair. Jess, he realized, when his eyes flicked up to meet pale robin’s-egg blue. She smiled a bittersweet smile to him and didn’t say anything as she continued her ministrations. Dean melted into those maternal strokes and relaxed more than he had relaxed in the last three days combined.

He didn’t talk for a long time. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to talk, but then he saw that sad, stupid puppy face Sam was making at him and he looked at Jess’ caring, caring eyes and the words just tumbled out of him, rolling over and over each other. He spoke until the words didn’t come anymore and the will died in his throat.

The room descended into quietude, making the breathing of the occupants sound like thunder. Dean didn’t even realize he was avoiding looking at his brother and sister-in-law until Sam cleared his throat and the only thing Dean saw was the tiled floor. Slowly, he raised his head.

Sam had a pathetic pitiful and confused face that somehow made Dean feel absolutely worse. He dared a look at Jess and she also had the damn pathetic pitiful and confused face and it made him even more worse. He returned his gaze to the floor.

“Dean,” his brother was speaking, “I don’t understand. Why would Cas leave? It sounds like everything was fine.”

“I know, I know, I know” The words coming faster and faster out of his mouth. “I know, Sam, I don’t get it! Why would he leave? Why would he leave me?”

His brother shifted in his seat and furrowed his eyebrows together. The wrinkles in his forehead got deeper and he bit his bottom lip. It was his thinking face, Dean realized.

“Are you sure Cas left you?” Sam asked slowly, his mind almost audible whirring. “Cause it isn’t sounding like there was a reason for him to leave.”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, “Maybe it little things that just added up. Maybe I am too much of a coward for him to love or maybe I made him watch that damn movie one too many times or maybe he just sick and tired of my bitching about my past. Maybe I could of, maybe I could of- “

“No, Dean” Jess shook Dean out of his thoughts. Her voice was sharp and biting, slicing right through his words. “I will not sit here and let you berate yourself on something that you have no control over. Now I don’t know everything that goes on in you two’s home, but I know that Cas loves you more than anything and you love him equally. Something isn’t right here and that’s not your fault Dean.”

“You don’t think that Cas left?” he asked, allowing a little hope to color his speech. Jess’ gaze immediately softened at this and she put another hand to Dean’s cheek. He leaned into it, not even caring how it looked.

“No, I don’t.” She said firmly.

“I don’t either,” added Sam with a determined look on his face. “Dean, did you see anything suspicious before that morning?”

“Did I see anything suspicious?” Dean repeated before barking out a bitter laugh, “What do you think this is Sammy? A bad cop show?”

Sam gave him a bitch-face with a set jaw. Before his little brother could give hima snippy reply, Jess interjected.

“Humor us, Dean. Was there anything you can remember?”

He huffed (because this was damn stupid) and slumped further back in his chair. He replayed the events of the week in his head and ignored how much they hurt. All in all, though, it was a pretty standard week for them. Dean had been writing steadily and Cas came back on time for work. There hadn’t been any fights, or petty arguments or even wayward body parts found in weird places. It had been a slow, domestic and perfect week, something that Dean never thought he would get in his life.

All except for that weird email he never ended up asking Cas about. But he wasn’t sure whether that qualified as suspicious so to say.

His brother was looking at him with big, wide puppy eyes and they basically pulled the words out of Dean’s mind. “There was this one email. It was from this company called Arc something and I thought it sounded fishy.” he said, trailing off.

Sam nodded encouragingly, his head bouncing on his head like a sympathetic bobble head. “Can you show us?”

Dean didn’t answer verbally and instead rose from his seat. His muscles immediately protested at the action and he heard a loud pop come from one of his hips. He grimaced and silently cursed his body’s aging process. Involuntarily, he looked over his shoulder to see if Cas was waiting with a snippy comment and then it hit him up a freight train that Cas wasn’t here. Cas was gone. This was Dean without Cas.

Instead of Cas’ blue, blue eyes and his small twitch of a smirk, there was just Sam and Jess sitting at his dining room table looking at him like he was a car crash on the side of a highway. He tried not to let them see how much it hurt.

He fetched the laptop and then brought it over to the table, setting it so that both him and Sam could see. He opened it and brought up the email app. The emails were taking what seemed like forever to load and Dean glanced at the clock. It showed that it was getting late into the evening and he suspected that they would probably be up much later.

He got up from his chair and went into the kitchen while taking to his family over his shoulder. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. Do either of you want a cup?” Jess nodded gratefully, tiredness heavy in her eyes. Sam nodded distractedly, not taking his sight from the laptop screen. He looked like a crazed hacker with the blue light casting strange shadows over the contours of his face.

He turned away from his little brother and began setting up the coffee machine. He opened up the cupboard above him to get coffee and saw that all they had left was Cas’ uber-strong Colombian blend. His cannibal always liked his coffee as strong as it came, brewing it to be as black as sin before he went and dumped his frou-frou hazelnut creamer into it.   Dean always laughed at him for his contradictory coffee and Cas would always snap back with a comment about Dean’s addiction to Pumpkin Spiced Lattes.

He wondered if he would see Cas make his weird-ass coffee ever again.

It’s funny how the small things about Cas were beginning to creep up on him, now that he realized that his husband might be truly gone. And every one of those small things were slowly tearing him apart.

“Dean,” His little brother interrupted his thoughts so much that he actually jumped in surprise. He took a few minutes to get his bearings and turn to face his brother. Behind him the coffee machine chugged along and began to sputter out its product.

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“That ‘arc’ company you mentioned, is it-” he paused and looked back to the computer screen so he could read it directly, “Anthem Regeneration Corporation?”

“Uh, yeah, they abbreviated it to ARC.” Dean filled three mugs full of coffee and began putting sugar in each one.

“Which email did you think sounded suspicious?” Dean froze, the coffee spoon he was using to stir in the sugar pausing in mid-motion.

He met his little brother’s eyes and saw that they were blinking at him curiously. “What do you mean?” he said, his voice small in his throat, “There was only one email.”

For a second, Sam looked like he didn’t know what to say. He glanced rapidly between his brother and the laptop screen, as if he thought one of them were lying and he was trying to figure out which. Eventually, he cautiously focused on the computer and slowly clicked on the second email.

Dean didn’t move and just stood there watching as his brother’s eyes tracked furiously across the lines of the email. Jess got up from her chair and then moved behind Sam to also begin reading the email.

Sam reached the end of the email before Jess and then looked back at Dean. His face was white like he had just seen a ghost and his fingers bounced anxiously.

“You gotta read this, Dean.”

Dean hardly felt himself move. It was like he was some kind of apparition watching its past body go through the motions. One moment he was holding a coffee mug and the next he was leaning over his brother’s shoulder.

He wanted to start reading, but suddenly he found himself just staring, unable to really grasp what was going on. He must have been doing it for a while because suddenly, Jess gently touched Dean’s cheek and he jumped at the contact. Her small mouth pursed into a tight frown and she looked like she was a few moments for crying. He wanted to say something, he could feel the words on his tongue, but they failed to come out. Jess didn’t push for words though, she just gathered him in her arms and shushed him like he was a frightened child.

She whispered that it was going to be alright into Dean’s ear until he finally felt composed enough to turn back to his little brother. He didn’t dare look at Sammy’s face. He didn’t want to see the pity that was inevitably written all over it. Instead, he just pushed a chair closer to the computer and sat down heavily into it.   

The bluish digital screen seemed to mock him. It taunted him with its blankness, its emptiness, as hollow as Dean’s heart. He glared at it (the only pseudo-powerful thing that he could do right now) and went on reading what was shown in the email menu.

 

            Dear Mr. Winchester,

                        Congratulations! We are happy to see that your husband, Castiel Winchester, has found value in our mission and has contacted us about how he can help. A few days ago, your husband began talking with us about his experience as someone with the blood of a supernatural creature and, in seeing what a contribution he was making, decided to enroll in one of our programs to aid integration. So far, he has been doing very well in our program and we invite you to come see what progress he has made so far. He has expressed great desire for you to come see him. If you wish to visit him as he goes through one of our enlightening programs, please come to our Brookhaven office (address posted below) in two days.    

                        Again, Mr. Winchester, congratulations on your husband’s choice and we thank you for your contribution.

 

            Sincerely,

            Anthem Regeneration Corporation

 

No one spoke as Dean finished reading through the mysterious second email and no one dared say a word after he was obviously finished. He leaned back in his chair and tipped his head up to stare at the ceiling while his mind whirred frantically.

He had never spoken to Cas about the first email he had received from the Anthem Regeneration Corporation. He had meant to bring in up that night, but it completely slipped his mind and he didn’t mention it again. Every once in a while, they got emails from companies based in the supernatural asking after his or Cas’ patronage or loyalty. They both, wholly demised these offers and never thought much of them. So why would this one be any different?

“So, I guess this means that Cas is in some kind of program, right?” said Dean slowly and unsure.

Sam didn’t seem any more confident and half-hearted nodded along with what Dean was saying. Jess was more hesitate and looked like she was about to agree with Dean, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I just don’t understand,” she said, drawing both of the Winchesters’ attentions, “if Cas is at some integration aid thing, then why would he send a text saying that he’s a hospital conference.”

Dean shrugged and looked back at the email. “Maybe he’s cheating on me.”

Sam actually snorted at that. “Dude, both you and I, both know that Cas wouldn’t cheat on you. Anyways, if he was cheating on you why would you get an email confirmation? I think we need to start thinking about what we got. First things first, what the hell kind of company is Anthem and why would they have an interest in Cas?”           

Dean agreed and Sam began to try to track down ARC. At first it seemed like an easy enough task because a company this professional must have come kind of Internet footprint, right? It turned out though, ARC didn’t. There simply wasn’t any on the web about them: no website, no Google results, no Wiki page, no nothing. Two hours of poring over pointless Internet searches gave them nothing. As far as the Internet went, Anthem Regeneration Corporation didn’t exist.

“That’s impossible.” Said Sam, when he realized he was out of ideas. “If it’s a real business then there’s no way that they don’t have an Internet footprint.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. This Internet stuff was already way over his head and he hardly grasped a lot of what Sam had been trying to do for the last hour. He knew what putting a nail in a coffin sounded like though.

“So that means, he hasn’t been taken by a company,” he said and his own voice echoed in his head, “which means he was probably taken by some psycho who wants to kill him for what he is”. He tried to ignore how much of a death sentence it sounded like, but the likelihood of it was crawling all over Dean.

“He’s probably already dead.” He said it. He said what everyone in the room was thinking and it made it feel all the more real. Because Cas had been missing for days now.

Tears threatened to run down Dean’s face and he swallowed the sobs that wanted to rise from his throat. Cas had been missing for days and that was enough time to kill, to torture. Dean had been one of those killers once, he knew how much time it took to break down a living thing and that time had been elapsed. He knew how long torture could be drawn out for. He knew how to draw the blood, how to make every breath a shutter, how to make a man beg for death. And he knew that, to most people, Cas deserved that kind of death.

The kind of death that Cas probably got.


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean, Dean, look at me.” Sam was suddenly in front of him, pulling him away from the images of Cas’ dead, hacked body. “I don’t think he is dead. If he was dead, then why would Anthem send you an email to come and see him?”

 

“Maybe, they want to rub it in my face, to prove that he really is dead.” Dean spat back. Because once, that’s what he would have done. His brother jumped back at Dean’s sudden anger, and in him the dark thing began to rise like an animal from sleep. It curled lazily and Dean felt its icy belly trail across his bones. Its movement sent shock racing through him and brought up the memories. The memories of the days when that dark thing formed.

“Why don’t we find out?” Jess voice was small, but the statement seemed to echo loudly through the room. It shook Dean out of his thoughts and both of the brothers’ heads snapped to look at her, but she didn’t meet their eyes. “If he’s dead or alive,” she clarified as she stared at the grain of the dining room table, her brows deeply furrowed in concentration. “There’s a spell. I think it could help us. Dean, go get a map of the area.”

Dean blinked dumbly at the witch as what she said slowly processed in his head and then, suddenly, he was jumping up and scrambling to find a map. Behind him, he heard Jess send Sam to the car to get a cooler out of it and she followed him out the door.

It took him a few minutes to find a map, but eventually he dug one up that Cas and him had previously used on one of their road trips. He spread it out on the table and as he was smoothing the edges Jess and Sam came began inside. Jess went immediately to him and took a few moments to look at the map before nodding.

“This is good.” She said and then placed a large stone in the middle of the map. She then put a small “Y” shaped stick on the stone with the single end pointing to where Dean and Cas’ home was on the map.

“Okay, so this is what’s going to happen.” She said as she motioned Sam forward with the cooler. “The spell I’m using is a general tracking spell and it should literally point us it the right direction. All we need is the right words and a little bit of blood.”

She opened the cooler and in it was one small vial filled with dark, red liquid. Over the glass of the vial was a label that read: Cannibal’s blood. “You’re lucky that one of my buyers backed out today and I just happen to have this with me.” She said as she reached in and plucked the blood from the cooler. With a deft, quick movement she unscrewed the cap and then poured a few drops of blood on the stick and the rock.

“Alright,” she said “you two back up. I don’t need you messing with the signal.”

Dean and his brother quickly stepped back a few paces. Dean almost couldn’t contain his nervousness at this point. A rock, a map and a stick were going to tell him if his husband was dead or alive and Dean was a little afraid of the answer at this point. Because if Cas, wasn’t dead, then that meant he was alive and in the hands of someone who almost certainly wished to do him harm.

Suddenly, the room dropped a few degrees and filled with the sense of a coming storm. Dean refocused on Jess who was bent over the map and chanting in a language he didn’t know. Her voice lowered and rose in a sing-song fashion and they had a foreign cadence. They musically fell from her throat, and flew around the room, following melody Dean couldn’t ever hope to know.

The stick shuddered to life as Jess’ voice began to fade and finish its song. It began to twirl slowly on the rock before quickly speeding up, becoming a small whirlwind. Jess put a hand behind her back and, with a finger, beckoned the boys closer. Dean practically sprinted forward, bending far over the map, trying to figure out where the stick was going to land. It didn’t though. It just kept spinning and swinging wildly from point to point until slowly it settled exactly where it started.

Dean immediately felt his heart sink in his chest and the small bit of hope choke out. “What does that mean?” he asked.

Jess didn’t answer right away, instead she reached out and gave the stick a flick. The stick twirled in a complete circle before landing on the same place again.

“Well there’s good news and bad news.” She said with a heavy sigh. Sam came up behind her and gently brought her into a hug. Magic usually taxed its wielder greatly and Dean could see the exhaustion forming behind Jess’ eyes.

“The good news is that Cas isn’t dead. If he was dead, then the spell wouldn’t have worked at all, the stick would have fallen off the rock.”

For a few moments, joy coursed through Dean’s body and a small smile began on his face. Jess mirrored that smile, before she remembered she had to give the bad news.

“The bad news is that we couldn’t get a location on him and the only way that happens is if there is someone else scrambling the signal. That means whoever has him has to have some knowledge of magical practices.”

A silence fell between the three people as each one got lost in their own theories. Who would take Cas? Why would they do this?  And the one that rang loudly in Dean’s head: was Cas being tortured as they spoke?

As he thought about this more and the images in his head started to get darker and darker, he felt the anger begin to build in him. It rolled around inside him, making that small vile thing coil quickly. It twisted in his gut and he could feel the way it curled in and around his insides, filling him with an all too familiar rage. Pushing him towards a person he used to be.

“I need to call Alistair.” He said. The words filled the room with tension and Sam immediately snapped his head up.

“What?” he said dumbly as if he couldn’t believe what Dean was saying. He must have seen the look in Dean’s eyes, though. The way that they glinted in the light as sharp and foreboding as a drawn knife.

Dean moved slowly to the phone, but was blocked by his little brother who purposefully put himself between them. “No, Dean, you can’t do this.” He said firmly, but Dean didn’t miss the flicker of fear that went through his eye. It sent a rush of familiar power through him, and the hunter smiled.

“And why not, Sammy?” He hissed. He took another step towards his brother, coming deeply into the man’s space. His brother may have been taller than him, but both of them knew who was the more imposing figure. After all, only one of them got gone through Alistair’s “training”.

“Because we need to call Dad.” Sam said firmly, not standing down from his position. Dean froze and glared into Sam’s eyes.

He didn’t know what Sam was playing at, but he hated games. “And why the hell would I want to call that asshole?” He whispered and even though his voice was low it still cut through the room like a razor. Sam didn’t answer immediately, and Dean felt the barely contained fury push at its walls. His little brother was stalling him, he realized, and he didn’t have time for that. Dean looked around the room and his eyes settled on the knives in the kitchen, only a few paces to his left. Sam breath hitched and he involuntarily took a step back.

“Dean, you need to calm down. I am not your enemy here. This isn’t you.” Sam said, trying to desperately keep his voice even, but utterly failing. He took another step and bumped into the dining room table.

Dean looked back at his brother, reading all the fear on his face and relaxed a little. He was clearly not a threat. “I will ask you again.” Dean spoke slowly and with his eyes flickering between the knives and his little brother. “Why would I call my father instead of my teacher?”

Sam gulped, but then the words rushed out of him all at once. “Dad said that people with supernatural blood were disappearing. Remember Dean? He said that before he left and that means he might know something that could help us.”

Dean stilled and didn’t speak. The only sound in the room was the ever-present tick of the clock and his brothers hitched breath. The sound of his brother’s fear seemed like the loudest sound he had ever heard. “And why shouldn’t I call John and Alastair?” He asked.

“Because I don’t want you to become this again Dean.” Sam whispered, but Dean heard every word. “I’ve already lost you to Alastair once, please don’t make me lose you again. Please Dean you have to promise me that you won’t go to him again. I can’t lose you again.”

He stilled and the world seemed to freeze around him. Sam was looking at him the same way he looked at them all those years ago when he had been pulled from hell. His face was a mixture of fear and hope, and he seemed so much younger in the evening light. The shadows played across his face and made the gleam of sweat on his brow glisten. He gulped and Dean’s eyes traced the way the column of his brother’s neck shifted with the movement. Below the skin, there were vessels and arteries beating with the thrum of Sam’s life and Dean knew he could end it right then and there, all it would take was a swipe of a knife against that hidden red river.  But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Sam was his brother, his family, he loved him.

Dean looked down at the knife in his hand and realized that he didn’t know when he had gotten ahold of it. It fit perfectly in his palm and the feeling of its handle was almost achingly familiar. He sighed heavily and turned to place the weapon down behind him.

“Yeah, Sam, of course. I promise I won’t go to him again.” He said as he nodded.  The beast in his gut roared and tried to make him grab the knife again. He fought it though, and ignored the howls for blood in the back of his mind. There was no doubt the dark thing was going to punish him later with a nightmare. As he set the knife down though he heard Sam’s breath relax and Jess let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know she had been holding.

Why did he let himself do that? How could he have put his family in so much danger? All because he couldn’t control himself.

The realization of what he had almost done suddenly crashed into Dean. The weight of the action and the press of guilt seemed to crush his lungs, threatening to shatter his very heart.

It was because he was a monster. How could he ever let himself forget that, just so he could play house like he wasn’t

A bloodthirsty thing

A killer

A hunter

 “Dean,” Jess said and Dean didn’t dare raise his head to meet her eyes. He was scared to see what he would find there, to see how many pieces he had shattered her trust into. He heard her move and then suddenly she was in front of him. He cowered and took a step back. She shouldn’t come close. He could hurt her. He could kill her.

She met his step though, and suddenly she was close enough to touch. He felt himself trembling, but didn’t try to control it. He couldn’t get his mind past the endless string of _DonothurtherDonothurtherDonothurther_ that ran repeatedly through his head. He heard her sigh and the puff of breath against his chest. And then suddenly she was hugging him.

“Oh Dean, it’s alright.” She said, her voice as soft and sweet as honey. He didn’t expect that, he had expected a tone as hard as nails and sharp as a blade. He stood limply in her hold, and when she realized that Dean was not going to return her hug, she brought up her arms. Gently she guided Dean’s face into the crook of her neck and pressed a kiss against his temple. He was frozen in her hold.

This must be a trick, right? This couldn’t possibly be real?

And then, she spoke again. Her tone was still blessedly soft. “I don’t know what kinds of ugly thoughts are going through your mind, but you have to know that Sam and I don’t think any less of you.” 

His eyes immediately snapped up because he couldn’t understand those words. They just couldn’t. It doesn’t make sense, not when he’s a…

But when he looked into her eyes, he knew that she meant every word. Forgiveness and affection was etched into her face and she was filled with so much damn love that Dean couldn’t bring himself to accept. Because how could he even dare think that he deserved anything like that.

“Dean, look at me.” Jess said, but he found he couldn’t do what she asked. He focused on her voice, though. The way it sounded firmer, but didn’t lose an ounce of the kindness. It reminded him of the way Cas spoke to him after the nightmares when he gently cradled Dean back to sleep. He might never have that again. But who was he kidding, a hunter didn’t deserve those types of things

“Dean Winchester, focus. Don’t lose me now.” Said Jess again, drawing Dean back into her. He dared look up and saw those kind, soft eyes that he couldn’t comprehend. “Sam and I love you and we forgive you. You are under more stress than we can possibly imagine. The love of your life has been abducted. We don’t expect you to be fine. Frankly, I’d be more worried if you didn’t have a reaction. So please, believe me when I tell you we love you. You are family and whether you understand it or not, we are not giving up on you or letting you go.”

Dean didn’t say anything and Jess drew back from the hug. He risked a look at his brother and saw the same affection. For a split second, he thought that maybe his mind was playing an elaborate trick on him. But when he blinked, the smiles and the kind eyes were still there.

They both kept staring at him and he realized that they were expecting him to say something. He shuffled his feet and clenched his fists, so tightly that he was sure that there would be little white crescents in them. He wanted to say something, but even as he cleared his throat, the words stuck to his tongue and refuse to come out. He settled on silently nodding.

Sam sighed. “Dean, it has been a long night. Why don’t we all go to bed and then we can figure out everything in the morning.” He said and Jess quickly agreed. They got up and headed for the guestroom that they shared when they came over. When Sam passed Dean, he wrapped his older brother in a hug and assured him that they would find Cas. As Jess came close, she got up on her tip toes and kissed Dean on the cheek before wishing him a good night. Dean stayed in the dark kitchen for another hour, but then eventually went to bed.

He slept that night, but the nightmares didn’t.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean breathed in and the scent of pines filled his nose, but not just that. He paused and took another breath in. Blood, he realized, old blood. The kind that’s stale and metallic and needs to old cleaned off his weapons. He peaked his eyes open, dim light immediately filling his vision. He blinked a few times and realized that he knew this scene. It was a nearly a decade ago, but he still remembered it so clearly. So clearly that the memory was able to play out like a movie in this dream.

He was crouched in a forest with the sounds of the night cascading around him. Bugs chirped to each other, bouncing calls off the bark of the trees. Nocturnal birds hooted from their lofty heights with their prey rustling in the bushes. The wind occasionally took over the night and made the leaves in the trees shake against the breeze. Behind all those noises, though, was one that didn’t belong in this forest. The echo of footsteps and something heavy being dragged along. The gasps of the creature as it struggled under a weight that was nearly its own size. The sound of a monster carrying away its human prey, that was the sound Dean was stalking tonight.

He felt his body move on its own accord and the way his muscles tensed without his command. The hunter through the darkness and Dean was carried along for the ride. He was glad for it though, he knew this scene, he knew what he would do next and how it all ended. He wouldn’t have to succumb to the nightmares his mind creatively tortured him with each night.

The sound came again and his body tensed up. He was closer now almost close enough to attack, but not quite. Inside him he felt the dark thing twist at his innards. He wanted to gasp at the feeling of it, but was reminded that this body wasn’t his to control. The dark thing was flailing madly in him, howling for blood and screeching for him to make the kill. He had forgotten how loud and insistent it was back then. How it constantly tore at the back of his throat and made him crave the violence.

Feeling the black thing clawing at him again almost made him sick (maybe it would of if he was in control of his body). Remembering what it wanted him to do to sate its bloodlust. The screams of creatures as they begged for mercy from his hand. The run of warm blood down his wrist as he sunk a knife into a heart. The terrified look of children as he turned to eliminate a bloodline. It wanted all those things. And more. And that’s want Dean had willingly gave.

The black thing in his gut wasn’t even at its strongest in this memory. Its claws were beginning to dull and lose their grip on the walls of his innards. Its cries were already beginning to fade from his mind, as something far more important began to fill it.

Cas, his future husband (though he hadn’t known it at this point), had stepped into his life three weeks ago and flipped his world upside-down. The night of their first meeting, after he had tried to convince Cas to come back into bed with him, only to be turned down multiple times, he was a goner and found himself trailing after the man. He didn’t know why, but Cas let him. He had Dean coming over for simple reasons, a clogged sink, a weird sounding motor, accidently ordering too much food. And every time, Dean came. They talked for hours about everything and sometimes about nothing at all. Sometimes they didn’t even need words and actions were enough. Dean didn’t know how, but somewhere in those stolen nights Cas saw the part of him that he had thought was lost to the darkness and fell in love with it.

And in turn, Dean was falling in love with Castiel. It would have scared him, but it felt so right and it gave him back pieces of himself that he thought were too broken to mend. Castiel completed him through his movements, his deep voice, the dark gleam of wildness in his eyes that made Dean’s heart race. He completed him when they curled up together in bed and the man drove the terror of his nightmares away. He completed him when Cas looked adoringly into his eyes with more trust and love than anyone had ever shown him before.

His body moved again, startling him out of his thoughts, and began creeping through the darkness and closing in. His prey had gone into a small concrete structure in the middle of the woods. He heard the door open, more dragging and then closing again behind him.

Dean straightened, losing his necessity for stealth. The redistribution of weight made the leaves crackle underneath him and snapped a couple of twigs. He stalked forward towards the building and came right up to the door. He paused when he reached it, pressing his ears against it to listen to the sounds inside. There was a rustling, muffled by the door and distant, telling Dean that his prey was in a further off room.

Slowly, he began to edge open the door. It didn’t make a sound with the slow movement and he was able to creep silently inside. Now that he was indoors, he could hear the movements of his prey much more clearly and a smile slowly rose to his lips. The promise of blood was close to coming true.

He closed the door behind him, the lock making a small click as it fit back into place. He turned to lock the door. He really didn’t need to. This far out into the forest there wasn’t a soul near enough to hear the screams, but maybe it was just for the ritual of the act. The repetition of movements as ceremonial as a sacrifice to a bloody god. This place was destined to become the monster’s stony crypt.

He moved forward and tightened his hand around his blade and his gun. They sang in his hand and that made him smile. They were ready for blood and that made him excited. The hunter closed in, now only separated by a second door from his prey. He licked his tongue over his teeth, put his hand over the knob, and opened it.

Through the murky light, he saw his prey, hunched over a body, ripping it into pieces using a small knife. He stilled when Dean took a step towards him, and quickly whipped around.

Dean froze because, in a second, he heard his entire world crash around him. Because there, right _there,_ in front of him, was the face that he had been falling in love with for the last few weeks. Covered in ruby blood and glistening in the subtle light.

“Dean?” His rumbling voice shook through the building, bouncing off the walls and swallowing Dean. (Once that voice had said “I love you” to him.) The monster’s eyes were flicking over his face, over his body, over the deadly weapons that bit into his hands.

 _Cas?_ He wanted to question, but didn’t dare say the name out loud. He feared to see the monster manifested in his lover’s name and to face what was so obviously true.

“Dean? Why are you here?” The monster questioned, his face morphing with confusion. He was standing straight up now and looking at Dean head on. There was blood on his hands up to his elbows.

Dean raised his gun and aimed it at the beast. He slid the safety off and the click of it echoed throughout the crypt.

Castiel stilled at the sound. His eyes locked on the weapon and Dean watched his chest begin to rise and fall faster. His heart must be pounding (a heart, a chest that had pillowed Dean’s head three days ago). He rose his face to look into Dean’s eyes and the hunter was amazed not to see betrayal in them, but confusion and deep unsettling fear.

“I don’t understand,” the monster whispered, “Why are you doing this?” His voice was trembling and shaking in fear. Just days ago, hearing that tone would have broken Dean’s heart (and maybe it still was). “I love you, Dean.”

And Dean shot. The noise shattering the silence, announcing death as clearly as a bell, a cry, a guillotine fell. He shot before Cas could say another word and break Dean’s heart in another plead.

He fell instantly, slumping to the ground next to the hacked body and clutching his shoulder with a white grip. Dean had veered his shot to the right in the last second and the bullet had dug itself into the meat of Cas’ shoulder (Dean had kissed that skin four nights ago). He crumbled with a whimper and a whine. The sound of the pain shook through Dean’s body and suddenly he couldn’t hold on to the gun. His hand was trembling too much and the weapon slid out of his fist to thump onto the ground.

He kept his grip on the knife though, and told himself that he had to bring this to an end. He had to kill this creature, even if it was his lover in another life.

Dean stalked forward until he was standing over the monster on its knees. It was gripping its shoulder, its arm becoming red with its own blood. He met its eyes and struggled not to get lost in their blue depths. There was so much pain, so much damn pain. How had he never noticed the pain on their faces before?

“Dean, please” The monster breathed in Cas’ voice and nearly drew a sob from Dean’s throat. He suddenly realized that there were tears drying on his cheeks. Tears that had come silently and unwillingly from his eyes.

“No,” Dean said, his voice ripped out of him in a shaky gasp. “No, you don’t get to ask for forgiveness. You can’t.” He was practically yelling. He raised his fist and then suddenly he was slamming it into Cas’ face, feeling the curve of his jaw break underneath it. “Why,” he screamed.

Cas fell again to the ground with another groan. “You’re a monster!” Dean yelled. “You’re a monster and you made me love you! Me! A hunter! How could you do this to me? Why did you make me love you?” He punched Cas again in the face, his fist landing with a crack. When he drew his arm back he felt tears staining his closed hand. The monster not even making a move to fight back.

“I loved you.” Dean said. The sentence was broken and full of pain. More pain than he had ever felt in his life. More pain that he thought a person could stand. He was breaking. He rose the knife in his right hand and braced his arm to swing it down. “And now I have to kill you.”

Under him, Cas was sprawled on the ground. He was shakily trying to lift himself up on his elbows, but his hurt shoulder wasn’t allowing him to put any weight on it.  He unsteadily balanced on one arm, threatening to topple over at any second. He rose his face and Dean shattered.

There were tears running out of his eyes, mixing with the blood that was streaming from his nose. A bruise was already beginning to bloom on his cheek where Dean had landed his first blow. The worst thing though, was the love in his eyes. Because, even despite Dean standing over him ready to end his life, Cas was looking at him with more love than anyone had ever shown him in his life.

“This isn’t you, Dean.” He said with so much sureness that the hunter was taken aback. “You’re more than this. You are more than a hunter, a killer and I love you. I love you so much and I know you know that. You’re better than this and I know that. We’re family and I love you.”

The knife shook in Dean’s hand and he felt his resolve growing less. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t.

He loved Cas and Cas loved him. He could never-

And suddenly, it was like his body was taken control of. His hand tightened on the knife and it rose by its own volition. And then, in heart-wrenching slow-motion, it came crashing down into Cas’ chest.

No.

  1. No. No. NO.



This isn’t how it happened. This wasn’t how it saw supposed to happen.

Dean’s mind scrambled, trying to correct the memory, even as Cas’ life shuddered to an end under him. His husband’s life blood flowed over his palm and bloomed like a red flower on his chest. Dean’s body trembled in pain and he felt his heart breaking in his chest. This wasn’t right.

His throat was beginning to hurt and, suddenly, Dean realized he was screaming Cas’ name over and over again. The word was ripping out of his throat and being strangled by a sob. This isn’t true.

He pulled the knife out of Cas’ chest and threw the weapon far away from him. He grasped at his husband’s body, holding him close and whimpering his name into the still chest.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to end.

He rose his face to the heavens and screamed Castiel’s name into the night. The sound echoed in the building that had become a crypt.

 

“Dean. Dean! Wake up!” Someone was shaking him awake with a hand around his shoulder. He gasped. A vision of a darkened room swirling around him, and slowly coming into focus. His heart was racing in his chest, desperately trying to break itself out of his ribcage. He panted and the sound of his lingering pain filled the night.

“Shh,” A lovely voice whispered by his ear and two arms laced themselves around his middle. He whimpered and the voice hushed him again. The arms pulled him in, flush against a chest. “Quiet, Dean, it’s alright. It’s alright.”

“Cas?” Dean said, and he couldn’t believe it even though he knew these arms, that voice, the heart that strongly pumped in a familiar, living chest. “You’re here?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m here. I’m right here.” Cas said into the shell of his ear with his breath ghosting against his skin.

“But, but, you can’t be here.” Dean said and he twisted in those arms so he could look right into Cas’ eyes. When he turned over, he couldn’t help a gasp at the sight of his husband laying on the bed a few inches away from him.

Cas laying peacefully with his head on a pillow, looking loving at Dean. His features were softened by sleep, and Dean could see him fighting to keep his eyes open. Dean could see his lovely face, his graceful neck, his strong shoulders that disappeared under the covers. He couldn’t help reaching out and laying a hand on Cas’ chest. His husband didn’t have a shirt on and Dean was so grateful for it because he could clearly feel Cas’ heart beating under his fingers, whole and unhurt and alive.

“Cas, you’re here? But, but you’re gone? You got taken?” Dean questioned because he couldn’t believe, he couldn’t believe…

“What?” Cas asked, confusion clear in his eyes. “I’m not taken. I’m right here. What are you talking about?”

And then it suddenly dawned on Dean and the realization tore through his body, splitting him in half. Suddenly, the pain was back and sharper than ever. It hurt so much, so much even though he knew now. He knew.

That this was still a dream.

“Dean, Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas said and his voice sounded more worried. He brought Dean closer and one of Cas’ hands began to run up and down Dean’s back. It felt so real. It hurt so much.

Dean shook his head, even in his dream he couldn’t stand Cas’ worry. “I’m fine.” He said, even though his voice betrayed him. “I’m fine. It’s okay. Everything is fine.” He fought against the pain and forced himself to look into dream-Cas’ eyes. They were as deep and blue as ever.

Cas looked confused, his gaze was searching over Dean’s face and his mouth was in a tight line. Then, slowly, the worry began to fade and Cas settled against his husband. “Okay, Dean, okay.” He whispered into his skin and he pressed a kiss against Dean’s forehead. “I love you.” He said and then he closed his eyes to go to sleep.

Selfishly, Dean stayed awake, indulging himself with the hallucination of Castiel. He knew that it was wrong, that it would only bring him more pain in the end, but he couldn’t help himself. It was so real and the heart beating under his hand was so _there_ and Dean couldn’t tear himself away. So, he let himself be fooled. He let himself believe the mimicry and find false comfort in a false love.

He let himself settle into deeper sleep with his husband’s ghost pressed against him. He let himself give into the lie for a few more hours. 

           


	8. Chapter 8

Dean shuddered awake the next morning at seven am. He snapped his eyes open before quickly shutting them against the sunlight. His head still ached from last night and he groaned loudly against his pillow. Habitually, he looked over to Cas’ side of the bed, only to find it still cold and empty with the sheets tucked into the corners. The starkness of the scene struck Dean because it was all just so wrong.

Cas wasn’t a neat sleeper. He didn’t tuck in corners or slip into bed with grace that barely unsettled the sheets. He slept like a force of nature. He was all flung out limbs, restless motions and rolling sleep conversations that had so much detail Dean could almost fill in the blanks. Some nights had Cas almost on top of Dean, clinging to him like his life depended on it. Others had Dean balancing on the edge of the bed so he could avoid his husband’s wayward kicks. But despite all that, despite the lost sleep and the punch Dean had taken to the face one time (which Cas still denied, like Dean could have possibly been mistaken about who punched him that night) Dean would never wish to wake up next to anyone else.

And now here he was waking up to an empty bed with the echoes of Cas ringing through his head. The freshness of his absence, struck Dean all over again and he struggled not to wail. It was all just so wrong, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. It was all a gross parody of the mornings he used to have. The ones where Cas kissed him goodbye before he woke and left him a cup of coffee on the bedtable. The ones where he felt so complete he could almost trick himself into thinking he deserved this in life. That dream was shattered now and he didn’t even have the energy to try to pick up the pieces. He got up from the bed and went to the bathroom while rubbing away the tears that had dried on his cheek.

When he went down for breakfast, Sam and Jess were already awake. His little brother was puttering around the kitchen, setting mugs on to the ceramic countertop. When he saw Dean, he nodded to him and began pouring him a cup of coffee. Jess was sitting at the table reading over a newspaper. She was fighting to keep the paper upright so she could read from it, but immediately turned her attention to him when he came towards her.

“Good morning, Dean. How did you sleep?” she asked as she folded up the paper and began to set it aside. Dean forced a smile on his face, though he could feel it strained on his cheeks. He still tried to keep ache and the sheer exhaustion from the nightmares from showing on him.  Maybe more for his sanity.

“Fine thank you.” He said, even though felt hollow inside. Jess didn’t seem to notice because she just smiled pleasantly and then turned back to the newspaper. Sam didn’t seem as sold, though, and his eyes kept digging into Dean’s. Dean met his brother’s gaze evenly, hoping that he would quail under his power as the elder sibling and sheer stubbornness. Sam didn’t back down, though, his puppy-eyes begging for a ‘feelings’ talk. They stared at each other for a solid minute, Dean’s pigheadedness against Sam’s need for feelings. Eventually, though, Dean felt himself buckle when it became too much, and he had to look away. He glared down at the table, but he still felt the way Sam was silently pleading for him to say something. He didn’t though, he just swallowed it all down and also ignored how much it made him feel like a goddamn coward.

Thankfully, Sam didn’t try any of his emotional crap and just hovered near Dean with his worried expression. That gave Dean pause because his little brother never held back from saying exactly what he wanted to Dean. If Sammy thought he should talk about his emotions, he was on Dean like a hound before he gave up from sheer annoyance. Sam was tiptoeing around him now, and he was surprised at how much that hurt. It must have been from snapping last night, he realized with a shudder. Instantly, he felt ashamed of himself and stopped trying to catch Sam’s eye.

Sam obvious to Dean’s mental rollercoaster, moved around the table to set a coffee down in front of him made to his liking. Dean nodded in thanks and took a grateful sip of the drink. He loved the familiarity of the motion it reminded him of better mornings. He found that it grounded him and made him feel just a little more in control of a situation that was quickly spiraling out of his hands.

“So,” he began “what do we do now?”

Sam hummed and then went to the table as he spoke. “I was thinking about that too.” He said as he pulled open the laptop and brought up Dean and Cas’ email from the Internet. “I think we should start with that second email. I know that we kinda ignored it last night with all the-” he paused and Dean saw him searching for a word, and he knew that Sam was trying to find a nice way to describe Dean going bat-shit insane on him, “- the stress last night, but I think that we should look into it more.”

Dean agreed and sat down next to his brother while cradling his mug close to his chest. He fought to keep his breathing even, and to not let the dark thoughts cloud his mind too much. A part of him just wanted to let loose. To scream, and wail and break something, all so that the world knew how beaten and raw he felt on the inside. He desperately didn’t want to hide it, to force those emotions into a tight little ball that he could shove into the corners of his mind, but he did anyway. He couldn’t let the panic and the pain take over. Because Cas needed him and if he wanted to have any hope of saving his husband then he had to stay sharp.

He focused back in on Sam and the email displayed in front of him. “Do you think that it’s actually real?” he said uncertainly as he read the second message from ARC again.

Sam didn’t look entirely convinced either and he shrugged in answer. “To me, it seems like an invitation to their secret lair is almost too good to be true, but I don’t think that we can just ignore it. I mean what if that’s actually where they’re holding Cas? We can’t just let that go. And even if it’s not where Cas is, maybe it’s some kind of clue.”

A quietude fell over the table as each one got lost in their own thoughts. The silence was only broken occasionally by the sipping of coffee, the rustle of Jess’ newspaper and the singing of the birds outside.

Dean lifted his eyes and looked out the window where the sunlight was streaming in. It was a beautiful morning, and even Dean, in his depression, couldn’t deny that. The birds were chirping merrily and a small bluebird was hopping from branch to branch on the bush outside. It lifted its tiny chest and then out of it came a song. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and it made Dean shutter. 

Because the world kept turning, so indifferent to the tempest inside Dean’s heart. It kept on being beautiful and wonderful, while Dean was just trying to keep it together. How was it able to? How did the world keep on being amazing when the most amazing part of it was gone?

Dean sighed a heavy sound and turned back inwards, away from the window and the world outside. He caught his brother looking at him with pitying eyes and instantly looked back down at his coffee. The Dean from a few days ago would have snapped at Sam for the blatant pity. He would have come up with a witty comment and started a brotherly banter. Maybe they would have ended it with a “bitch” and a “jerk”. But now? He couldn’t even find it in himself to muster up that kind of emotion, let alone act on it. Not when he was here and Cas was not.

“Can we call Dad now?” Dean asked hoarsely and ignored how tight his throat felt. Even now as he said those words, the black thing in his gut pushed at him. The longer Cas was gone, the more it seemed to stir.

“Uh yeah, sure.” Sam said and he scrambled to give Dean his phone. Dean had long since deleted John’s number. He had spent too much time trying to figure out if his parents would come, wasted too many hours on thoughts of them.

He scrolled through Sam’s contacts until he found the one labelled “Dad” and pressed the first number attached to it. He lifted the phone to his ear and waiting as the phone rang. By the third ring, the line connected and Dean’ heard his father’s gruff voice come through.

“John Winchester,” he said as he answered.

“Hey, it’s Dean.” He stumbled over the words and felt like a seven years old all over again.

“Hello Dean” his father said slowly, trepidation clear in his voice. If it had been any other time, Dean would have probably said something sarcastic about his father’s caution.

“Dad, I um…” he trailed off before he could bring himself to say the words, “Cas is gone.” He muttered, hating the finality those words seemed to have. The way that they sounded like an execution order.

John was silent on the other end, but Dean knew that he hadn’t hung up the phone. He could hear his heavy breath through the line, the way those immortal lungs kept on in his chest. Then suddenly came a weighty sigh.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” he said and the sincerity in his voice struck Dean dumb, “I don’t… What happened?” he asked with a softness that Dean had never heard his father use.

“He was taken, Dad,” he said “they have him and I don’t know where he is.” A sob pulled itself from Dean’s throat and he couldn’t keep the sound from being heard through the phone. He immediately put his hand up to his mouth to help swallow the other cries down.

“Is he…” his dad asked, but trailed off before saying the word.

“No,” Dean said quickly, “He is not dead. Jess did a spell. Magic can’t find him, but we know he’s not dead.” He could be though, Dean realized, they did the spell last night after all.

“You think that he might be one of those disappearances that have been littered across the country?” John said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“It’s very possible, right? You said that they capturer was taking people like Cas.”

“I think so. Wait a moment,” John said and the line went nearly silent. Dean heard his father’s deep voice speaking to someone else, but the words were too muffled for him to make out. A minute passed with more voices and then suddenly his mother’s voice was filling the phone.

“Dean, baby, are you okay?” His mother sounded breathy and frantic. He blinked, surprise once again muting him “Dean?” she insisted again when he didn’t answer immediately.

“Hi, I’m, I’m doing ok, I guess.” Okay as he could be with Cas gone.

His mother gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I’m so sorry about Cas. He is such a sweet boy, I can’t imagine why anyone would take him.” Dean smiled at that and briefly wondered how many cannibals got called “sweet boys”, “but we’re going to find him, Dean. Your Dad and I are going to pack up the car and then we’re going to come right down. Okay?” she asked, but there was no room for arguing in her voice.

“Okay Mom.” He said and his mother sucked in a huge breath that startled breath. “Hey Mom, are you okay?” he asked over the line.

Mary didn’t answer immediately, but then slowly whispered. “It’s been a long time since you have called me ‘mom’, Dean” she said and the words were heavy, filled with a painful nostalgia. Dean didn’t know what to say in response and like a coward just kept silent. His mother didn’t seem to need an explanation though and she continued. “We’ll be there in about two days. I’ll see you soon, son.” And she hung up the phone.

Dean handed the phone back to his little brother. Sam looked at him questioningly and Dean briefly explained that their parents would be there in about two days.

Sam grimaced at that. “That isn’t quick enough,” he said, “the email said that you should come later tonight. They won’t be here by then.” 

“I know,” Dean said, “We’re just going to have to do this alone.” He looked his brother in the eyes and saw how anxious he looked, the way his mouth caught it a tight line. Dean nudged him with his shoulder, making Sam blinked up at “Relax, Sam, this isn’t the first thing we’ve done without our parents and I doubt it will be the last.” And, despite the phone and the obvious care his parents had just shown him over the phone, he couldn’t keep all the acid out of his tone.

Sam caught it too, but didn’t comment. He just gave Dean a long pitying look that unsettled Dean and made him feel about fifty times guiltier.

“Yeah, Dean, I know.” Sam said.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the day was spent uninterestingly in research mode. Sam was still trying to track down the alleged Anthem Regeneration Corporation on the Internet (and still continuing to have no luck) and calling anyone who knew anything. He even called their father again to try to get more information but John didn’t have much. He and Mary had only loosely been tracking the case and were just beginning to take concern when the they came to the dinner. Any detail was usual at this point, though, so Sam spent a couple hours bouncing ideas between John and Mary. The sight of Sam talking quickly into the phone while his parents answered back, unexpectedly sent a jolt of guilt down Dean’s spine. He didn’t know why, but he got a distant touch of failure, like he had failed Sam in some unspeakable profound way.

Sam tried to get Dean to talk to his parents, but Dean felt like he was intruding in something he didn’t have a right to and stayed quiet. Instead, he circled back to the table where Jess was sitting, busy calling up every witch and coven she knew to try to see if there were any hints to be found in the Magic-ed community. As he came over, she smiled at him comfortingly, but didn’t take her focus off her phone call. Every once in a while, she would write a name or a location on the yellow legal pad in front of her, or circle a pre-existing one.

Dean unsure of what to do, sat down and took the very uninteresting job answering phones that never seemed to rang. The more he sat there, the more he felt like he was letting Cas down, but there wasn’t exactly much more he could do, especially when they planned to raid the castle in a few more hours.

And so, he sat there, staring at a phone that never seemed to come to life…

And tried desperately to ignore the beast in his gut that got louder and louder every minute that Cas was gone. Dean swallowed, and scrambled for something else to focus on, something that would take his mind off the insatiable thing that rolled inside him.

It wasn’t good, though.

Hours passed like this, with Sam and Jess working hard and getting nowhere and Dean swallowing down the creature that wanted to wriggle out. Until, suddenly, the hour came when they had planned to leave and Dean was practically sprinting to the Impala.

Sam and Jess quickly followed with his brother taking shotgun and his-sister-in-law scrambling into the back. Sam typed the address into his phone and brought up GPS. Dean followed the phone’s mechanical voice, getting more and more annoyed with it every direction. He scowled at it so much that Sam had to politely (not politely) ask Dean to not break his phone. Again.

 (The phone was totally asking for it.)

Miraculously, and much to Dean’s chagrin, the phone led them to a non-descript office suite that was labelled “Watson’s Collision Repair.” Dean parked a bit away from the building, not trusting letting his brother, sister-in-law and Baby too close to the vicinity.

“Are you sure this is the right one?” he whispered to Sam, even though the low voice was probably unnecessary. The whole place was deserted with not a soul in sight, except for the three Winchesters. It all felt so dead, and the itch of it made shivers run just beneath Dean’s skin. Anxiety and adrenaline rushed through his body, making him feel cold and hot at the same time. He was unable to keep still, and vibrated in the Impala’s seat as a single thought ran over and over in his mind. He might see Cas again today.

Oh God, he might see Cas again today.

“Yeah, it has to be. It’s probably just a front, they couldn’t have been here for that long.” Sam cut through Dean’s thoughts, immediately refocusing him. Dean nodded agreeing with his brother. If this alleged Anthem Regeneration Corporation was actually hopping about the US like John and Mary said then they wouldn’t have time to be able to set down roots.

The time had come, Dean realized, and he reached for the handle to the Impala’s door.

Sam reached out and caught Dean’s wrist as he was exiting the car. He turned back to his brother and saw the evident fear in his eyes. He looked so young in that moment, and it reminded Dean of the past days when he was still his brother’s hero. “Are you sure that you want to go in there alone?” Sam said slowly, scared.

Dean’s smile softened and he assured his brother once again that he would be fine and everything would be alright. He knew that both of those might be lies, and maybe Sam knew that too. He wasn’t going to let Sam come in there, though. Better for him to bleed than anyone else.

Sam nodded and reluctantly let Dean go.

“Be safe, Dean” Jess called from the back as he got out of the car. He heard the anxiety in her voice too, which made his heart painfully constrict. And, for both of them, he put on one of his best cocky smiles.

“Of course, Jess. ‘Safety’ is my middle name.” He said and he gave her a wink. She smiled back, but it was forced and Dean didn’t expect any less.

He closed the door before Sam could go into a big, long speech about distress signals and the importance of calling for backup. He knew his brother was just trying to help, but reminding him of everything that could possibly go wrong was only making him less focused. Above all things, right now, he needed to keep his cool. That’s how he would get Cas. He began walking to the building.

It was only a small space that must have been rented from the larger business complex. The down turn of the economy a few years ago must have hit it hard. All the other units were empty and Dean could see the raggedness in the building’s upkeep. The evening light didn’t help make the exterior any better. The shadows were casting about, making stark contrasts between the light and the dark. It made the cracks look deeper, the windows more murkier and gave the building a sense of looming. It didn’t lose its intimidation the closer Dean got and he had to swallow anxiously before gripped the front door, opening it, and going inside.

His presence was announced by a small ring of a bell and he found himself in a cookie cutter waiting room. The walls were a bleached white and faded grey and there were three black industrial chairs scattered about. There was even a damned fake potted plant in one of the corners. Towards the back of the room was a white door with no label. Everything looked industrial and Dean could clear see the remnants of an auto repair place in the space.

“Uh, hello?” Dean said into the empty room and then suddenly he heard someone coming towards him from the hallway.

“Just a minute,” said a voice on the other side of the door and then a small tan woman came through it.

“Hello, you must be Dean Winchester. My name is Sandra and I would like to welcome you to Anthem Regeneration Corporation.” She smiled brightly at him and offered him her hand. He tentatively shook it, surprised by the firmness of her grasp and confidence in her smile. She was a pretty woman with soft angles and warm brown eyes that drew him in. She was like a warm office receptionist, someone who was inviting and businesslike all at the same time.

“Why don’t you follow me, so I can tell you a little bit about what we do here at Anthem,” She spoke as she began to lead through the door and into a well-lit hallway with generic pictures on the wall. She looked back and met his eyes as she continued, “then we can get you into see Castiel.”

Dean couldn’t help the little jolt that ran through him at the mention of his husband’s name. He wanted to cry, deck the woman, and whoop in joy all at the same time, but he suppressed himself. He didn’t miss the way that the woman’s eyes carefully tracked over his body as she said the name. He didn’t miss the little curl of a smile when he tensed. She was watched him and Dean wasn’t quite sure why yet.

She turned forward again and tapped one of her perfectly manicured fingers against the hem of her skirt. “Let’s begin by addressing the elephant in the room, shall we?” She paused mid-step and Dean froze, not daring to take his chances by coming closer. His hunter instincts screamed at him to go ahead and throttle the woman, but his brain told him pause, wait and see.

“You want to know what exactly we do here at Anthem Corporation, yes?” She said and Dean silently nodded, which made her friendly grin grow wider and more wicked. “We’re here to help the supernatural community grow more accustomed to living with humans. We are here to make the transition easier and more complete, so that they can live a normal healthy life. You understand that, right Dean?” she chirped and she turned around fully. Her presence seemed bigger in the tight hallway.

“We specialize in taking in those who even the supernatural community has an aversion too. Those that society would write off as being too dangerous for simple living. I myself have personal connection to our cause. My husband was of the incubus designation, but the rather nasty kind that needed more than anyone was willing to give. I designed this program to help him overcome his supernatural blood and was able to live happily with him for another two years until an illness took him away from me. After his passing, I decided to bring my program to the rest of the United States and have been expanding since.”   

“I’m not going to lie to you.” She said with a huff, like she was talking about a big secret, “your husband is one of the toughest cases we’ve tried to help. I mean, a cannibal?” she practically sang the word, ending in a musical laugh, “you would think that there would be no cure for that, but we are making significant progress.”

And suddenly her eyes hardened enough to make Dean take in a quick breath. “And that’s what you want, Dean, right? You don’t want a cannibal for a husband, you want someone normal, happy and healthy?” She asked with her gaze searching every inch of him.

“Yes, of course.” He heard himself say, surprised by how sure the words sounded. He knew that was because, in the deepest, guiltiest part of him, he knew it was true. But it was an ugly sentiment, a gnarled one that had haunted him in the early years of their relationship. He had buried it in love, acceptance, and understanding, but not all buried things die.

The woman never let her eyes stray from him. She fixed him on the spot and seemed to be looking into his very soul. He suddenly felt like an insect pinned to a board, spread out and splayed for all to see. He shifted nervously from foot to foot until the hard look the woman wore morphed back into a kind smile.

“You know Dean, I have a knack for telling the truth-givers from the liars and I see honesty in you.” She turned around and back walking him further into the hall where the lights got dimmer except for one door that was illuminated by the light coming through its frosted glass. “I only let a few of the partners of my clients get this far. It’s difficult, you know, because someone’s loved one is such a personal topic. But every once in a while, one of them truly understands the work that we are doing here and helps support us on our mission.”

They reached the door and she put one of her delicate hands on the knob, just about to open it. “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. I can practically see the love for him rolling off you, so why don’t you do us all a favor and help me, help him” she said gently, but Dean didn’t miss the silent warning in that tone. He quickly agreed and assured her that he would help her in any way he can because that was how he knew he was going to get the closest to Cas.

She tugged back her lips, revealing her perfect straight white teeth and then opened the door.   


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing that he saw was white. The light practically blinded him and he had to blink rapidly to shield his eyes from the harsh glare. He squinted against it and slowly the world came back into focus, and with it, his angel came into view.

Castiel was sitting on a wooden chair in the center of the room with his hands folded primly in his lap. His back was stick straight and pressed firmly against the hard back of the chair. His feet were together and set on the ground, like two soldiers. On his face was a calm gentle smile as still as the surface of a lake. On the surface, he looked relaxed and placid, but Dean could see the tension bubbling underneath his skin.

The little cracks in his exterior that told a different story. He was too still. His back was too straight. His feet too in line. His husband who usually twitched and hummed with energy was too flat, too forced.

And Dean didn’t know why.

Despite that though and despite the madman prowling just behind him and Cas’ obvious stillness, Dean couldn’t help the relief and joy that rose through his chest.

Because there he was. Alive and breathing and perfect and Dean didn’t think he ever saw a more beautiful sight in the world. Cas’ eyes drew up to meet his and his breath rushed out of him. There were the blue pools he fell in love with. There was that person who made him whole.

“Hello Dean,” his name rumbled out of Cas’ chest and he wanted to latch onto the words forever.

“Hey Cas,” he said and Cas smiled tiredly at him, breaking the deathly placidity. The movement instantly morphed Cas’ body, making him look more alive, but also told more of his treatment. Dean narrowed his eyes at that and took in the heavy lines of Cas’ face, the way that exhaustion was written into the dark spots beneath his eyes and the corners of his lips. And something else, he realized, but couldn’t put his finger on it.             Until then it struck him. Make-up. He focused on the lower left side of Cas’ jaw was a slightly off-color than the rest of him. It was too yellow, and now that Dean noticed it, obviously covering up a darkening bruise.

Rage immediately flared through him, sending fire into his veins when he thought about what the makeup was trying to hide and how Cas must have gotten it. He fought to keep his face fixed in a grin as a grimace threatened to over-take his features. He couldn’t let this woman behind him realize that he saw the mark. He had to keep looking oblivious if he wanted to get Cas out of here safely.

He looked at Cas more critically, though, taking in every detail. Thankfully, the spell of stillness over him began to break and Dean could see more of his husband coming out. He also saw the obvious ways pain was written into Cas’ appearance. He was favoring his left wrist. There was nervous twitch in his fingers. An unconscious tightening of his jaw. The almost imperceptible jerking of his ankle.

And worst of all, the way that his clothes hung looser on him, the signs that Cas was starving. And not just normal starving, the cannibal running through his veins had its stomach growling the loudest. Dean did the math in his head, counting how many days it had been since Cas had gotten his meat. The number jarred he because he knew the without his rare meat, Cas’ body was beginning to turn on itself to get it.

Shit. Cas couldn’t go on much longer like this. Not with his own body starting to eat itself.

“Hello, Castiel,” the woman spoke, her voice settling in the room like a fog and dragged Dean’s eyes to Cas. His husband immediately tensed at her voice and his whipped his head up to track her with his eyes. Dean knew him enough recognize both the fear and the anger that swam through those orbs. He knew the predator within Cas and could easily see it prowling against some kind of invisible restraint.

She gave Cas a wicked smile and went to settle in one of the chairs next to him, entirely unconcerned by the fact that Cas wanted to rip her head off and sink his teeth into her throat.

“Now don’t give me such an evil look, Castiel. I am only trying to help you,” she purred and she ran a hand patronizingly through Cas’ hair. He jerked away from her, but did not get up from his seat. Instead, he fixed his eyes back on Dean, pointedly looking away from the woman.

She pouted, the look marring her pretty features. “Why do you have to be so difficult all the time?” she sighed dramatically then continued on, “Today, I brought in your husband to encourage you with your completion of the program and to help you end this silly hunger strike of yours.”

“Hunger strike?” Dean asked, startled by the implication when Cas was so obviously starving.

“Yes,” she chirped, turning fully towards Dean. “When Castiel came into the program, we immediately started him on a strict no-human meat diet so that we could wean his body off its cannibalistic desires, but now he forces himself to throw up everything we give him. He just refuses to fight himself off of human meat and we were hoping that you could steer him back in the right direction.”

Dean could have laughed at what the woman was saying, the way she was treating Cas’ cannibalism like a choice and not a biological need. Cas didn’t want to be a cannibal, he had to be to survive. It was written in his genetic code, it flowed through his blood. And it was why he wasn’t able to stomach non-human meat now. His body was simply rejecting it. He needed human meat and anything else would be like poison, only working to kill him faster.

Dean looked at the woman and saw that her face was open and eager like a dog about to snap up a bone. The sheer joy she was getting out of this sent a shiver down his spine and made him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’m sorry, but could you tell me a little more about the treatment that Cas is getting?”

The woman brightened and practically bounced in her seat. It almost made Dean sick about how Cas’ pain was making her so enthusiastic.

“Yes, of course. Cas is enrolled in one of our newest and most scientifically advanced treatments. Our scientists have deduced that the supernatural factor that makes people like Cas less than human lies in the blood. This blood factor has monumental effects on behavior and creates a sort of lust of something, that something, of course being determined by what type of supernatural they have inside of them.

“In this treatment, we work to entirely get rid of the bad blood and replace it with fully human blood. We are performing a hospital grade blood transfusion and working to fully acclimate his blood to this new way of function.

“But so far, Castiel has been fighting us every step of the way and we cannot get as much progress as we would have liked to.” She finished with a smug smirk of her face, looking like someone who knew that they’ve won. Dean, though, cared little for whatever she was doing and focused on his poor husband, whose body was literally beginning to eat itself from the inside out. It chilled him with how sure the woman was, how she assured him that her torturing was healing, Never mind that all the science was wrong (Cas’ cannibalism was in his genes, not his freakin’ blood), the method of “curing” him was invasive and torturous and clearly killing him drop by drop.

Cas met his gaze, trying to convey more emotions than Dean could discern, showing just how exhausted and overwhelmed his husband was. His heart throbbed painfully at that, and he just wanted to wrap Cas in a hug and take him home. He would lay him down on the bed and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until they were both asleep. He would make sure that Cas knew he was safe and wanted and assure him that this nightmare was over.

It wasn’t though, he had to focus on getting Cas out of here. There would be a time and place for reassurance and safety, and that time was not now.

“Cas, darling, what’s wrong?” He asked.

Cas didn’t answer for a while. He looked down at his pants like they were the most interesting thing in the world, before slowly beginning to speak. “I’m sorry, Dean. I just can’t. The treatment they’re giving me,” he paused, “it’s not agreeing with me. This is taking so long, I’m sorry, but I don’t think that we’re going to be able to meet Jess and Sam in Vegas. I know you love that funky town, but this treatment is taking much longer than I expected.”

The woman immediately took control of the conversation from there, berating Cas about how ‘the treatment wouldn’t be taking this long if he just…’. But Dean stopped listening. His mind was whirring in over that, going over that two-word phrase, _funky town._  He had told Cas that once, about how Sam and he used to make believe themselves into undercover agents and how they made up their own spy language. They had words for everything, five-o means police, Poughkeepsie means ‘drop everything and run’, and funky town means ‘I’ve been captured and they have a gun to my head.’

Which means that Cas, even though he looked relatively safe sitting in that chair, was somehow in danger. His hunter’s instincts immediately reared up, and for once in a long time, he let them. Was it a gun? Dean took another quick scan of the room, but didn’t see anything suspicious. Magic, then, he decided.  They already knew that whoever was leading this joint (was it this woman, Sandra, or could it be someone else?) must have had access to magic, so it wasn’t unthinkable that they were using it against Cas.

The woman finished up her rant and Dean brought himself back to the conversation to keep from looking too suspicious. It wasn’t hard though, the woman seemed happy to have his approval of whatever the hell they were doing to Cas.

“That’s fine, Cas, I already guessed that we were going have to move the Vegas trip. I’m working with Sam and Jess to shift the date. Don’t worry about that, just focus on getting better.” He said, hoping that Cas would understand that he got the code-word and that he was having Jess and Sam help him get him out.

Cas nodded meaningfully and let out a heavy sigh. There was so much hidden in that sigh. The pure exhaustion of the sound, the way his lungs seemed to have to heave to get it out of his body, the small catch in it that showed it probably hurt him to breath. And the heart-aching defeat of it.

Dean saw that Cas was going to break a moment before it happened. Cas shut his eyes quickly and fought back tears.

“Please Dean,” he rasped, “please Dean, I can’t last much longer and it hurts. It hurts so much and I don’t know- “

He was cut off by the woman jumping into action and putting her hand over his mouth. Cas startled and tried desperately to fight back, but seemed to be unable to leave the chair or raise his arms from where they were folded in his lap. He was openly crying, trying to shake the woman off while she kept anymore of his words from coming out.

“I’m sorry, Dean” she said with a grunt as she manhandled Cas, “he is having one of his little episodes. We are going to have to cut this meeting short. Could you please show yourself out?”

It took everything in Dean not to jump up and protect his husband. The black creature inside him was roaring, deafening almost every bit of him except for the little bit that was holding it all back. It screamed for blood, it cried for release. It slithered his blood, priming its fangs, its cold belly slipping across his ribs, just waiting to come out.

Dean swallowed it all down, forcing it back into its small black pit, because a small part of him knew that releasing it would just make it worse for Cas. He didn’t know what type of magic was surrounding them right now and an action against it could backfire. Releasing it all, the hurt, the rage, the desire for revenge, all that could possibly kill Cas.

And because of that little bit. Dean nodded at the woman’s words and thanked her for letting him come. He looked into Cas’ eyes, he saw the pain there, and he still turned away, all while silently praying that one day Cas would forgive him.

He walked through the door that led back to the hallway and right before he was about to close it he heard the undeniable sound of a muffled scream and a body being beat.

He closed the door and he found himself in a silence that was the loudest sound he had ever heard. He began walking and the quiet was deafening. It was only marred by the patter of his own footsteps and the ringing of Cas’ scream in his head.

 

The walk back to the door seemed to take forever. In that journey, Dean’s whole lifetime seemed to pass, flitting away before his eyes. There was the day he met Cas. There was the day he kissed him. There was the day they married. There was today, the day he turned his back.

Inevitably, as all things seem to come, Dean reached the door and somehow managed to open it despite the terrible shake in his hand and the tears that were running down his face, distorting his vision. It was twilight, he noticed, by the way the sunlight was waxing into a purple dusk. Which meant that he had been in there for a less than an hour.

 _It took less than an hour for him to turn his back on Castiel._ The thought caught in his mind like a sob.

His eyes drew over to the Impala, sitting idly in the parking lot. The twilight gleams did wonders to its paint job, twisting colors all in black. He would have smiled at the beauty of the car had it been any other time. Instead he kept his face stony, as he walked back to the familiar car. He couldn’t ignore the way it sort of felt like coming home, though.

Especially when he got closer and he began to be able to make out Sam and Jess huddled in the car. Sam was curled up in the passenger seat napping. He head was ungracefully tilted against the window and Dean thought he saw a thin line of spit coming out of the corner of his mouth. The same position Sammy fell asleep all throughout his childhood. Poor kid, Dean thought to himself, he hadn’t really considered the toll that all this was taking on him. He doubted that his brother had gotten anymore sleep than he had. Cas, after all, was his brother-in-law and Sam loved him like he was a second brother. He had to just as freaked out as Dean and terrified at the thought of losing family.

Dean flitted his eyes over to the other figure and saw Jess was reading a book in the backseat. She seemed to present a calm demeanor with her eyes quickly scanning through the pages, but her mouth was fixed into a tight line. The firmness in her jaw made it obvious she was just using the book as a way to try to distract herself from the worry.

She looked up as she saw Dean approaching and immediately brought her eyes up. She put her book down and locked on to his gaze. For a second, Dean thought about turning back and hiding the distress obviously written on his face. But he was tired, so damn tired and he couldn’t even bring himself to really care.

Jess instantly reacted to him. She woke Sam, shaking him and bringing him shuttering back into the day, before getting out of the car. She came up to Dean without a word and wrapped him in a hug. She didn’t say a word, and Dean found that was all he needed because he wasn’t sure he could have brought himself to say anything. Jess just ran her hand through the hair at the back of his neck and let him cradle his head in her shoulder. He breathed in the comforting maternal scent of her and let himself bask in the quiet comforts of her voice.

In the background, he heard the Impala’s car door open and close. It was his brother, and when he dragged his head up, he saw his hunched over form. Sam was still trying to fight off sleep, but when he saw the misery on Dean’s face, he gave him a pitying look.

Thankfully, he didn’t ask questions either. Him and Jess just guided Dean into the back of the car and began to take him home. He knew that his brother must be dying to know what happened in there, but by some grace of God, didn’t ask. Amazingly, neither of them said anything else the entire ride and Dean could have kissed them for that. He was just so glad to not have to relive the shame of turning his back on Cas again or the fierce powerlessness that the room and how that woman made him feel. He couldn’t have told them how he was doing or really even vaguely how he felt. His emotions were in such a jumble right now, then were all twisted together and if he opened his mouth he wasn’t sure if the sadness or the anger would rip out of him.

When they reached his house, all of them got out and Sam cautiously asked if Dean would let them stay over tonight. Dean said that he would rather be alone and Sam nodded like he understood. They both said their goodbyes, and told Dean to call if anything happened. They would be staying in a hotel about six minutes away and would come over any time he needed them there. Dean nodded, agreeing to everything they said until finally they were rolling out of his driveway and into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

It was when they were gone and the taillights were entirely faded into the empty dark that the loneliness hit Dean like a tidal wave. It washed over him, rolling over his head bringing him under until he could hardly breath through it. This whole house was just a ghost of Cas and Dean hated how much it had lost its sense of being a home. It scared him to think about how much his domestic life with Cas was fading and becoming more like something he might have seen in a movie, once upon a time.

All of it was taken from him. Brutally and forcefully taken when Cas was kidnapped. And now, without Sam watching him with a suspicious gaze or Jess trying to judge whether he would break, he felt all the anger and pain and vicious fury begin to shake through him.

He paced around the room like a wild animal. His hands flexed and he desperately wanted to break something, but was willing to do anything that would mess up the illusion of the life he could be living.

The small black thing in the pit of his stomach began creeping. It twisted his guts. It slithered through his veins. It clawed its way up into his head and curled at the back in his mind, fangs bared. And though a vicious tongue it said a name.

_Alastair._

_Alastair._ Dean stopped and turned. The phone sitting on the table suddenly seemed much bigger, much more apparent. _Alastair would know what to do. Alastair would give me my weapons back._

Suddenly, Dean was hit by the memory of power. The way it felt to have sheer ferocity run through his veins and howl in his chest. How he had felt like a god with them in his hands. The weapons gave him strength and the ability to defeat whatever was put in front of him. They could give him victory.

And the thought tugged at him.

They could give him Cas.

Dean didn’t even feel himself make a choice, he just felt his body move as if by its own accord. The phone felt cold in his hand.

He pressed the buttons to form a number that he knew by heart and waited for the two rings to pass before he was met with silence.

He waited for a moment before his voice began to almost speak by itself.

“This is Dean Winchester requesting my weapons.”

“Oh Dean, I always knew you would come back.”

*****

Three hours later and Dean found himself outside of a familiar garage. It was nestled in a deep part of the forest, out where the human-made paths gave way to wilder things. The garage was an old building, almost completely rusted over and breaking apart at the seams. Loose pieces of iron hung ragged around the edges, as if the metal was trying to get away from itself. Beside it, pieces of twisted steel leaned against the walls, red around their edges and Dean hoped it was rust.  In the nighttime, the building looked darker, more ominous, and it was only in the darkness did Dean think that it truly showed what laid through those doors.

A small part of him screamed at being back here. It begged him to turn around, not to enter the place that had tortured him for over ten years. The screams still rung in his ears as deafening as a gunshot. Some of them were his. Some of them were inflicted by him. Both of them tearing him down and torturing him again. He pushed the begging back. It was only a small part, the part that wanted to run. It was not loud enough to compete with the black thing that pushed him forward into the garage and the desperate longing to do anything to get Cas back.

He knocked, twice, and the door swung open immediately to reveal a face that twisted his gut and made his blood run cold.

“Dean, it is so nice to see you” Alastair said, his handsome features twisting into a cruel smile, revealing vicious teeth underneath. Dean couldn’t help the way that his body reacted. The hunter in him (the very hunter that Alastair instilled) brought his guard up and didn’t dare let him relax it. His muscles tensed and his hackles raised at the voice. He could feel everything in him focusing in, ready for flight or fight if needed. His body knew a danger when it sensed one and his hand twitched for a knife that wasn’t there.

The man lifted his palm, open for a handshake and Dean hesitated before taking it. The hand gripped him tightly. Its fingers slithered over his knuckles and the coldness of it sent a shiver through his spine.

“Alastair.” He said simply, his voice clipped and forcedly polite. Alastair had always demanded manners. The consequences of not having them were often bloody.

The man looked over him with hungry eyes that reminded Dean of the way that Cas sized up a steak. The thought sent a pang of sadness through Dean, but he forced himself to get not lost in those thoughts, not to get caught up in the emotion. He knew that he couldn’t afford to let anything distract him right now.

Not even thoughts of Cas.

He tried to pull his hand back, but Alastair kept his grip firm. Not tight enough to keep Dean if he tried to break it, but enough to show that he didn’t want him to go anywhere. Dean knew it was power-play, but forced himself to submit because as much as he loathed to admit it, he needed his weapons. His knife and his gun heavy in his hands. He needed what they could bring them. He needed what they could promise. And the only way to get them back was to make a deal with Alastair.

Eventually, his master let go of his hand and his smile grew ever wider and more wicked with the silent victory. It was obvious he had won and exactly what position he had Dean in. The good little servant, Dean thought bitterly, so eager to please. Eventually, Alastair moved aside and beckoned Dean through the door, leading him down the hallway and into gaping darkness.

“So,” he said, his voice echoing on the walls, the only other sound was their footsteps against the concrete, “how is the domestic life treating you?”

“Fine,” Dean answered shortly, barely keeping the growl out of his voice. He kept his eyes down, gaze tracing the smudges of dirt on the stony floor and the cobwebs caught in the corners. The footsteps ahead of him stopped, the sudden absence of sound cutting into the air. Dean tensed more, immediately feeling like a little kid awaiting a blow again.

“Fine? Really Dean?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. His tone was patronized, like a disappointed parent and Dean couldn’t help shrinking into himself more. Neither of them moved. Alastair kept waiting for more of an answer. Dean tried to ignore the sensation of being dissected.

Then Alastair tried a new method. “How’s that little monster of a husband you took?” he hissed, the venom clear in his words.

Dean tensed, his muscles immediately growing taut, and the dark creature inside him growled. His emotions struggled, torn between wanting to lash out or curl up and die. He wanted to do something, Just do something! But as he prepared to speak, the bravery died in his throat, a useless, battered thing.

 _Do not lie to me, Dean._ Alastair’s voice rang through his head, and ignited phantom pain in his ribs. A place where he had beaten him long ago. The memory of the beatings (so many beatings) haunting his body like a drawn-up ghost, and breaking him slowly.

“Is there something wrong with your dear hubby, Dean?” Alastair stretched his name and his eyes glittered cruelly. His teeth caught the light, flashing like bared fangs. His voice slithered into Dean and made him feel numb inside.

Just do something. Say something.

Nothing.

When Dean didn’t answer, his mentor laughed outright. The noised battered against the concrete walls, turning it into ugly. Spit flew and hit Dean’s face. And, slowly, his mentor began stalking down the hall again.

“So, what is it? Is he dead or has he finally snapped and now you have to kill him because he’s showing himself as the creature he truly is?”

Dean didn’t answer again and the silence between them spoke volumes. He could see Alastair getting angrier with him though his voice remained sickeningly playful. He knew his master. He knew the way that the twitch in his jaw meant stronger punches. He knew the grinding of his teeth meant less food. He knew that when his master’s eyes flared red that he had to run, even if there wasn’t a chance to get away.

He also knew how to avoid the anger. Years of training told him to submit to Alastair, to tell him what he wanted to hear, to please him in any way he could. Anything to avoid the pain. But he wasn’t a small obedient thing anymore, he lost that when Alastair told him to kill the only person he had ever loved.

“Does it matter?” Dean spat. “I’m here and I want back in. Isn’t that all you want to hear?”

Alastair remained silent, but he wasn’t still, he shifted his weight between the balls of his feet. The constant movement made him look like a pacing animal and repeatedly threw his face between light and shadow. One moment he was in the dark and in another he was in the light.

He kept his gaze steadily on Dean, waiting for an answer.

Eventually, Dean broke a little bit, the silence and the heavy, disproving eyes of his master digging into him like hooks.

“He has been kidnapped,” he said gruffly, hating how Alastair had drawn the words out of him without even lifting a finger. The sentence was sour on his tongue, and made his heart ache.

The other man nodded and began walking again. Dean followed until they reached a door that he knew led to the weapon’s keep. Alastair paused in front of it and turned back to Dean.

“So presumably, you are going to use your weapons to go save your pet monster, is that it?” he said. Dean’s teeth ground together at hearing Cas be called a monster and a pet, but he didn’t comment. He just nodded his head in confirmation. Give Alastair what he wants, he told himself.

“You know that I can’t just go around giving out hunter weapons for free. What do you have to exchange?”

Dean gulped and played the only hand that he had left at this point. “Service to you.”

Alastair smiled victoriously because those were the exact words he had wanted to hear. He knew they were. Dean was Alastair’s greatest accomplishment and greatest failure. He had trained him for over ten years, crafting him into a killing machine and one of the most vicious hunters across America. He gave Dean the dark creature inside him, the one that called for violence and made adrenaline race through him at the scent of blood. It was visions of him that kept Dean up at night, reliving hours of brutal training and the sight of his own blood painting the walls of this very building.

The earliest years in his training were the worst, those were the years that he still fought back, before he realized the true hell he was in. Before Dean had stopped praying for his father to come and take him back home. Before he stopped crying himself to sleep as the echoes of other apprentices’ screams rang through the hall. Before he gave up on the ideas of home and comfort and started submitting to whatever Alastair said. Before he had been truly and completely broken.

“Ten.” Alastair’s voice cut through the screams in Dean’s head.

“What?” he said stupidly, having to bring himself back into reality.

Alastair frowned and Dean looked down like a chastised child. He couldn’t help the flinch. His master did not appreciate stupid questions.

“Ten years of service,” he said primly while drawing his palms together, “To be done immediately after your little rescue attempt, whether it succeeds or not. In exchange, you will be granted your weapons and your creature will be granted safety from other hunters.”

Dean leveled his gaze with Alastair’s. _Ten years. Ten long goddamn years of being a hunter again. Could he do that?_ He thought to himself. He had been so broken the first time, he wasn’t sure he could stand a second.

But what choice did he have.

He needed those weapons, any others wouldn’t do. A hunter’s weapons were their pride and joy, two instruments tuned to his soul that gave him a connection to the magical realm. They sang for him and lullabied his name in their dark song. They gave him power he could never hope to achieve on his own. They made him a true hunter. Against his, regular weapons felt dull. The other ones had no soul, no thirst for violence and a will to please like Hunter’s weapons had. They couldn’t tear through magic like his weapons could. They couldn’t sing to him that wonderfully wicked song.

His weapons were glorious, brutal, beautiful. They wanted to strike the bone. And it was because of that, that they were the only ones that made his blood soar. The ones that drew the dark thing inside him out into the forefront, the thing that could devour. The ones that made him feel so truly alive.

 _And dead inside,_ said a little voice in the back of his head that suspiciously sounded like Cas. Those weapons, they called to him like sirens, but like the creatures of myth doomed him.

He didn’t have a choice, though. Cas needed him. Cas was being beaten right now. He was dying. Dean had to save his husband and these weapons were the only way that he could guarantee that he would be strong and vicious enough.

“Alright,” he whispered, though the words were loud in the near silence. “Alright” he repeated, not sounding more confident. “I’ll do it. I’ll be a hunter again.”

At first, Alastair didn’t move, but then after a few moments a smile spread out across his pointed face. He looked like a wolf. A shark. A demon. Ready to tear into the soft hollow of Dean’s throat.

“Wonderful,” he purred, his voice slithering across Dean’s cheek. “Now why don’t we get you your weapons, hmm.” He unlocked the door he had previously been guarding and led Dean inside. Cobwebs hung in the corner and shadows fled from the light.

Dean immediately stopped. He knew this room. He had been tortured in this room. He had clawed at the walls and prayed to the empty heavens. But he had also been praised here. He had his skills sharpened and his victories celebrated.

“I’ve been keeping these two nice and ready for you. You see, I always knew you would come back. I just had to be patient, maybe a little too patient. Perhaps I’ll have to punish you when you get back from your little fool’s errand,” Alastair mused, but Dean might have been a hundred miles away.

His weapons were there and they called for him. He can’t believe that he almost forgot their voices. The way that they enveloped him and filled him all at once. He was lost in their wicked song.

He didn’t feel himself move. He just went and then suddenly they were both in his hand, their melody in his veins. He shuddered at the weight of it.

He hefted the gun. It was a pistol, a Colt, ivory sides and a seductively sweet song. It loved that he was back, but demanded blood. He must pay sacrifice for leaving it lonely for so long.

He gripped the knife. It was much older. It’s voice much deeper with rounded notes and low hums. The curved viciously out of the jawbone of an animal, teeth decorating one side, edge glittering on the other. It was waiting to be fed, to sink those teeth into something that could scream.

And Dean would give it just that.

He turned around and hardly gave Alastair a second look as he left the building. He had a mission to do. He had weapons in his hand that demanded to be sated. He would give them anything they wanted.

The dark thing danced in his head and drove the other thoughts inside.

Especially the small voice, the one that sounded like Cas, the one that begged and begged and begged.

 

*****

When Dean got home that night, he found Sam waiting for him in a nearly pitch- black kitchen. A single light was on, and it haloed Sam brightly, but made the shadows seem even darker. He was sitting down, hunched over the table and absently picking at its grain. Next to him sat a half empty bottle of whiskey. The light made it glint evilly in the pitch black.

Dean closed the door behind him and it clicked with a definite snap before he slid the lock into place. His brother looked up at the noise and Dean met his eyes cautiously. He immediately saw the conflicting emotions in them. The anger. The disappointment. The worry. The pity.

“You went to him,” Sam whispered. It sounded like a question, but both of them knew the answer. It was an answer that neither of them wanted to face, but they inevitably had to.

“Yeah,” Dean said, noticing how dead his voice sounded. Neither of them dared to say Alastair’s name. It was as if just saying it would bring the man forward, like calling forth a demon. It was as if just saying it would make this situation just too impossibly real, like the weight of it would break the brothers’ backs.

Sam turned away from his brother and stared back at the bottle of whiskey. After a few moments, he slid over a glass that had been previously hidden in the shadows. He grasped the bottle and slowly poured himself a generous drink of the amber liquid. He brought it to his lips and took a sip.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam and the bottle next to him. “Was that thing full?” he asked, another question they both knew the answer too.

Sam turned his head slowly to the whiskey as if he was just noticing it was there and gave a shallow shrug. “I guess,” he said blankly, and then twisted the sound into a bitter laugh “looks like I picked up something from Dad.”

That simple moment broke Dean’s heart. Because when he looked at Sam drowning his emotions in a bottle, all he saw was his father doing the same exact thing. The scene jarred him and shook apart something deep inside. Because Sam was better than this. This wasn’t his strong, stubborn brother who saw Dad’s drinking and swore to never be the same. This Sam was something hurt, something barely holding it together because their brother had broken their heart.

The realization sent ice-cold guilt trickling down Dean’s spine. It dripped down and trickled, settling in the base of his back. And then from, there he could feel it spreading, washing through his entire body, enveloping him all over again.

“You shouldn’t do that Sammy,” Dean growled and he stomped over to the table to take the bottle from his little brother. As he was reaching for it, though, Sam caught his wrist and stopped his hand. When their eyes met, Dean saw the angry fire burning in Sam’s eyes, a fierceness that he wasn’t used to seeing in his brother.

“No, Dean, you can’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do,” he said harshly, without releasing Dean’s wrist. The black thing inside him growled at being held back, and Dean could hear it telling him to attack Sam in the back of his mind. The weapons by his side also cried for violence, but Dean held them all back. But just barely.

“Sam listen to me. You can’t be like this.” Dean tried again, his voice wavering. It was all getting louder and Dean could hardly hear his own thoughts. He felt his hands beginning to tremble.

His words, though, only seemed to make his brother angrier. Sam tightened his hold and then suddenly stood, his face coming within inches from Dean’s. “Dean, you promised. You promised not to go to him. You promised not to go to Alastair,” he hissed.

“Sam, I had to. You didn’t see Cas, you didn’t- “

“No, I didn’t but that doesn’t mean you had to go to Alastair. We had Dad. He was going to help us get Cas out. We don’t need Alastair.”

Immediately, Dean felt himself beginning to grow angry. The coiled evil thing in him jumped at the emotion, rolling around in glee and fueling the raw hurt in him. Because why the hell would he rely on his father. His father who never showed up. Who always seemed to forget to even call. Who had left him in the hands of a torturer, all in the name of training.

So, does Sam really blame him for thinking he couldn’t rely that man. Could he really question why Dean didn’t trust his father with his husband’s life? His husband Cas who was the most precious, perfect thing in the world to him.

“Like hell, I’m going to have faith in that man,” he growled, his voice growing louder and angrier with every word. “That man doesn’t give a damn about me and he doesn’t give a damn about Cas. So, like fucking hell, I’m going to trust him.” He was shouting now and Sam backed up in the show of anger.

Sam gave his brother a hard look. His eyes showed that he was just as angry as Dean, just in a different way, a more hurt way.

“Yes, he does Dean,” Sam said, his voice brimming with a thousand emotions, “Don’t you remember the phone call. The way he decided to drop everything and come back so he could help you find Cas.” Sam paused and his eyes searched over Dean. After a few seconds, he slowly began speaking with a new firmness in his voice. “Dad cares about us Dean, but if you don’t open your eyes you’ll never see it.”

In that moment, Dean was struck dumb. He had a million angry things he could say to that:

If he cared then why wasn’t he here

If he cared then why hasn’t he ever shown

If he cared then why doesn’t Dean feel like he does

But despite every angry thing that his brain was supplying, any words Dean tried to say died in his throat. They settle in the back of his mouth, festering like the hate they were, slowing beginning to choke him.

Across the room, Sam held his gaze, silently challenging him to object. No words, came out, though, and after a while, Sam dropped his eyes in defeat. He gave a sigh that settled heavily in the room.

“You know, Dean, things aren’t going to change if you don’t want them to change,” he practically whispered. He sounded much softer now, and more vulnerable. More like the little boy that Dean had raised.

Dean wasn’t sure which had hurt more, the rage in Sam’s voice or the raw hurt.

Then were both silent for a while, neither quite knowing what to say to each other. The feeling was so foreign to them, because as brothers, they always knew what to say to each other. To look at one another and see a stranger, that was almost unthinkable.

Eventually, Sam began to move and slowly drew close to Dean. Cautiously, he reached out an arm and laid it on his brother’s shoulder. The touch make Dean lift his eyes and meet Sam’s.

“It’s late, Dean, and neither of us are thinking straight. Why don’t we go to bed and we can figure this out in the morning?” Sam asked.

Dean could clearly read the truce in his voice, though, the offering of peace to veil the hurt. It couldn’t get rid of the betrayal in Sam’s eyes, but it did assuage it a bit and, right now, Dean would take what he could get.

He nodded and felt relief trickle through him, quieting the angry voices in him. His brother gave him a small smile and shook his shoulder as he passed Dean to shuffle further into the house.

He went, but then stopped when he saw that his brother wasn’t following him. Sam turned back with a raised eyebrow and Dean just silently shook his head. His little brother stayed for another moment, desperately trying to figure him out, but then began walking again.

Dean watched as his brother left. The way that his body seemed to get eaten by shadows the further he got. Or maybe it was the other way around, Dean thought. Maybe, as his brother left to his warm room and caring wife, it was Dean who was to get devoured.

It felt like that.


	12. Chapter 12

It was strange that there was a time when he enjoyed mornings, he thought as he laid in his bed with the sheets twisted around his limbs. Everything was so slow, moving sluggishly like at any moment it would all just kneel down and die. How did these early hours ever bring him joy? Because now, as the light filtered in through the window, the only thing he could imagine was the pain that this day could bring. Because now, he would have to figure out a way to live without Cas and ignore the fact that the minutes were so aching that he was beginning to grow numb.

The thought of that scared him. He knew pain and he knew the numbness that came after pain. The numbness that brought relief, but also brought a deep and heavy hollowness. If pain was emotion, the numbness was the loss of it and Dean couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t feel for Cas, even if the feeling was bad. He wasn’t sure he could survive in a world without Cas.

Emotions welled inside him, too many of them to figure on his own, instinctively he turned to the other side of the bed. He sought the presence of the one person who could sort out all these feelings and calm him down, but all he found was a cold, still pillow. The sight of it almost brought tears to his eyes, but then slowly he began to swallow the sorrow back down. It went slowly because sadness was a round heavy thing, but eventually it settled in the pit of his stomach. He could feel the black thing in him twist around it and begin to eat it. It ate, and ate, and ate, until the ache was gone and Dean was left feeling empty.

He remained in bed, feeling everything and nothing at all as the quiet grew deeper. It was almost completely silent, except for his shallow breathes and the nearly soundless singing of his weapons on the bedside table.

           

He lost track of time. He didn’t notice it until the door creaked as Sam opened it, quickly drawing Dean’s attention. His brother looked so small as he opened the door, like suddenly he was a kid trying to sneak into their parents’ room. Except that their parents never had a solid room, they were on the road too much for a stable home. And they didn’t have parents who stayed, John and Mary never there to be snuck up on.

Sam took another step towards Dean and saw that he was awake. He met his older brother’s eyes and gave him a small smile.

“Hey,” he said quietly. He stood over the bed, his hands twisting over themselves. The constant movement made Dean feel warm affection. Sammy had always been that kid who couldn’t sit still. He was always moving, always thinking, always wanting to just reach out and grasp. He was always out in nature trying to get his hands on what he was curious about, and then coming back to Dean begging to keep his new “pets”. Schools hated him for it, but Dean loved it. If curiosity every had a physical form, it was Sammy’s ever moving hands.

“Hey,” Dean said back, but didn’t move from where he laid. 

Sam’s eyes skirted over his form, focusing on the cast-off pillows and the twisted blankets. Dean couldn’t help, but notice how his eyes obstinately stayed away from Cas’ side of the bed.

“Another nightmare?” he asked quietly.

Dean shivered as he remembered what haunted him last night. The screams and the ice-cold terror that washed over him and ran through his body.

“Yeah,” he answered and neither of them said anything more about that.

Sam shifted uncomfortably at the edge of Dean’s bed, quickly redistributing his weight from foot to foot.

“Me and Jess went out and bought breakfast,” he said simply, but his eyes pleaded, “we would really like it if you came down to eat with us.”

Even now, as he was struggling to even get up from bed, Dean found that he couldn’t refuse his little brother. He nodded and rose from the sheets and stretched his arms up over his head.

“Yeah, I’ll come down, just give me a few minutes.” He said as he shook the lingering sleep from his body. Sam nodded, but didn’t move from his spot by his bed. Dean wanted to change his clothes, though, so he gave his little brother a meaningful look and flicked his eyes between him and the door. Sam lit up in understanding, and practically scrambled out of the room. Dean smiled as he watched his big moose of a brother trip over himself and bumble his way down the staircase. No matter how much Sammy grew his body always seemed two sizes too big for him.

Dean closed the door and slid the lock into place. He really didn’t need to, but years as a hunter told him never to leave himself vulnerable and it assuaged his tightly wound nerves. As changed into something that wasn’t his pajamas, Dean tried to keep his thoughts from straying anywhere too dark. The nightmares still haunted the edges of his mind, but he turned himself to the lighter things. He needed to focus on his family, the ones that were here right now, and stay strong for them. He couldn’t let them see how much he was ripping at the seams (though he suspected they already knew) for his own sanity. He couldn’t take their pitying looks and the condolences in their stares. He didn’t need their hurt to make his own even worse.

Stay light, Dean, he thought to himself. At least try to feel something close to happiness.

Even as he said it, the task seemed destined to fail.

He grunted as he finished putting his shirt on and made a final push to get the dark thoughts out of his mind. The dark thing rolled in his stomach and he wished, for just once, he would forget that it was there. It has tormented him almost his entire life and now, as his weapons egged it on, it grew bolder and bolder.

And when he began to work for Alastair again…

He couldn’t help the ice-cold fear that trickled down his spine and dug deep down into his bones. He would lose himself. He knew that, even though he was trying not to face the fact. All the best parts of him, all the parts that were kind and whole and good, would be eaten away by the bloodlust and the thrill of the hunt.

He knew it because it had happened to him before. He knew how persuasive Alastair could be. His master always made them raise the knife eventually. He knew how sweet the weapon’s songs could be. They sang for blood, and it was blood they would get. And in all that, the warm goodness in Dean would be systematically snuffed out.

He knew it and it terrified him.

But he didn’t have a choice, he had to save Cas, and if that came at the price of his happiness, that’s what he would give.

He sighed, the breath escaping his mouth in a long smooth hiss. He felt the movement deep in his body and, somehow, it gave him a little comfort. He couldn’t stall any longer (his little brother was probably about to send up a search party already), so he turned out of their room and went down stairs.

As he grew further away from them, the weapons on his bedside table whined for him to return, but eventually they tapered out, their voices lost to distance.

“Dean,” a voice said and instantly he raised his head. He saw Jess smiling brightly at him. It was a little forced, but it’s the thought that counts and he gave her a softer smile back.

“Hey Jess” he said quietly, and at the words her fake smile slowly morphed into something more real.

“It’s good to see you up,” she said and she gestured him to come closer. He made his way over and slumped into one of the chairs next to her. “We weren’t sure if you were going to come down by yourself or if I was going to have to send Sam up there to drag you down.”

Dean snorted. Sam almost magically appeared beside them and practically shoved a full plate of food in front of him. Dean blinked at the sudden onslaught of calories and it took him a minute to realize that Sam was going to go down the “drown the pain with food” route.

Nonetheless, Dean muttered a “thanks, Sammy” and began eating the comfort pancakes in front of him. Sam smiled and slid in next to his wife. They must have both already eaten because neither of them made a move towards the kitchen.

As Dean began eating, the table almost immediately descended into an uncomfortable silence. Sam looked like he wanted to have the intense feelings talk that Dean was trying to avoid like the plague. He knew his brother wanted to reopen the wounds they had made last night, but Dean was doing a good enough job agonizing over them himself and he didn’t need he brother to make that worse. Anyways he wasn’t sure how much Jess knew either about the fight last night or about Alastair and the weapons.

Jess shifted in her seat and leaned against the table. She balanced on her elbows and supported her head in her hands,

“How are you holding up, Dean?” She said, he eyes expectant. Looks like Dean didn’t have to wait on Sam to start the feelings talk, Jess was going to do it herself.

He didn’t know what to say. There was so much he could say, but none of it seemed right at the moment.

“Fine,” he said instead, letting the tinny noise fall from his lips. Even he could acknowledge how much of a non-answer it was.

His response made Jess crinkle her nose and give Dean a more careful look. It was obvious she wasn’t satisfied with the single syllable, but Dean prayed that she wouldn’t press the issue. Then again, nobody ever answered his prayers.

“Cut the crap, Dean,” Jess said, her voice still caring, but now with a stricter, harder edge that made Dean sink further into his seat, “We all know you’re not fine, so don’t try to fool us with that bullshit. I want to know how you are really?”

Immediately, anger rose within him and the felt the hot sting of hurt race through his body. The thing inside him cackled and rose to the challenge, making it all feel deeper.

“Of course, I’m not fine, Jess.” He hissed, glaring at the table. “But for a while, I would just like to pretend to be, so how about that?” He knew he sounded like an ass, but he couldn’t help himself. Not with Jess pushing, not with his nerves fried and his sanity fraying.

Jess opened her mouth, ready to snap something back (probably about how rude he was being), but then she paused. Dean could see the comment falling from her face and steadily being replaced by wariness. She narrowed her eyes and gave Dean a full body scan. He shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, his anger from before trickling away into nervousness.

“What is this, Dean?” Jess suddenly said. Her tone was cold and vacant, making Dean want to sink into the floor. He looked to his brother for help, but Sam had a similar stony expression to the one that his wife wore.

He looked down at his coffee, like not meeting Jess’ eyes would get out of having to answer or to admit who he had seen, where he was last night and what he had done.

“Dean Winchester, you look at me right now and tell me why you have the thrum of dark magic practically vibrating out of you.”

“I,” he started, his voice tentative and unsure, “Last night, I went to see Alastair.”

“Alastair,” Jess ground out his name, “the man who tortured you. The man who you spent years trying to get away from. The man who fucking sent you to kill Cas in the first place. Why the hell would you go willingly to him?”

Dean flinched at Jess’ voice and the curse in her words. She never cursed and hearing it now told Dean just how angry and betrayed she felt. It made him curl up on himself more, but her eyes trapped him in his seat.

“He had my weapons.” He said simply. The words only made Jess’ eyes flare up more and set her mouth into an even tighter grimace.

“Your hunter’s weapon?” she growled the question and Dean gave a shaky nod.

“Yes,” he said.

“Dean, do you know what those things are made of do you know what they do to you?” She insisted, her voice getting quicker and angrier by the second. Dean didn’t answer and she must have taken his silence for ignorance.

“Dark magic!” she spat “that’s what they’re made of. They are pure magic twisted and raped into an unrecognizable, tortured form. They are evil and they seep into the soul until you’re as corrupted as them. So why did you go to get them back? Why did you decide to do that to yourself?”

“I need them to counter act the magic holding Cas.”

She paused for a long moment, her eyes practically dissecting Dean’s expression, making him feel like an experiment pinned to a corkboard. Eventually she commanded him to go a retrieve the weapons so she could see them.

Immediately, he scrambled up from his chair and to his bedroom. He was eager to be out of Jess’ eyesight, even though he knew he would soon be under it again. Getting out of the room didn’t help the “I-fucked-up” feeling that was steadily growing and beginning to eat him from the inside out.

He gathered his weapons, the knife and the gun, trying desperately to fight the smile that wanted to rise out of him when the happily sang to him. The black thing in him rejoiced, making it harder to ignore the pleasure that flooded through him when the weapons called his name in sweet tones.

He came down the stairs much slower than he went up them. Pointedly looking away from Jess as he got closer. He knew that as a witch Jess was so much more in tune with the symphony of magic that revolved around the world. It was impossible that she would be able to miss how loudly and longingly the weapons called to him. How their voices curled in siren’s tones and spoke his name as sweetly as a lover. Or how his body answered back in an equally desperate melody.

He eventually reached the table where Jess sat and Sam loomed over and set the weapons on the wood. They seemed to glint proudly in the morning light. He ducked his head without meeting either of their eyes and slipped into a chair across from Jess.

It didn’t matter that Dean didn’t meet Jess’ eyes because she was solely focused on the weapons in front of her. She levelled her gaze to them calculatingly and moved around them like they were a growling animal. She hesitantly reached out for one of them, but when her finger touched the knife’s hilt. It let out an ear-piercing screech that made both Dean and Jess flinch. The only one who wasn’t affected was Sam could only see with his eyes because he didn’t have magical blood like Jess or a hunter’s connection like Dean.

Finally, Jess turned her face away from the weapons and met Dean’s eyes. He could still see the anger, the fierce rage that practically welled out of her, but now it was mixed with betrayal and heartbreak that hurt Dean more than any anger could ever do.

“Why Dean?” Jess asked, and despite the anger in her gaze, her voice came out small and nearly broken.

“You didn’t see him.” He said and he could hear the sob threatening to rise out of him. He didn’t even hold it back, he was tired of having to hold a thousand sobs back. “He is breaking and I just couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything.” He had to pause and collect himself. “She had some type of magic on him. Something that was hurting him, controlling him, and the weapons,” he motioned to the weapons. “I know they can break it.”

“What was the price?”

“Ten years.”

Jess didn’t say a word. She just stared straight through Dean’s eyes and into him. Her anger was nearly gone, replaced by more terrible betrayal and hurt. More than Dean had ever seen in her. Suddenly, she stood and her silence becoming more worrying by the second. She went to Sam and both of them faced Dean, standing over him, making him feel two inches tall.

“I could have broken it.” She said, her voice jarringly empty. “If you had let me, I could have broken it. But you chose not to trust us.” She looked so much smaller than she had moments before. Dean knew the sight of her, betrayed and heartbroken, would haunt him in his nightmares.

“Do you know how much that hurts, Dean?” she said nearly too quiet for him to hear. “To know that you can’t even trust the people who love you the most? We can’t help you if you don’t let us in.” She was curling into Sam now and he put an arm across her shoulders to steady her. “And now we’re going to lose you.”

She sighed and turned her face in Sam’s side with closed eyes. Tears glimmered on her cheeks.

“I need to go.” She said, talking more to Sam than Dean, apparently done with him. “Those weapons are making me feel sick. I can’t stand being here for much longer.”

Sam nodded silently, gently turned her out towards the front door.

Dean watched them leave, as somber as a funeral march, and make their way to their car parked outside. Within a few minutes, they had gotten into the car, pulled out of his driveway, and slowly drove down the street. Eventually, they were gone, leaving Dean alone in the house with his thoughts.


	13. Chapter 13

He didn’t know how long it took until he reached for the knife. It called to him and spoke sweet nothings into the corners of his ears until they were the only thing he could hear. They stole away the upending loneliness that echoed around his head. He was alone. His family was angry at him and had abandoned him. His parents were never there to begin with. And Cas, the love of his life was suffering, just waiting for him to come get him.

So that’s what he was going to do.

Dean collected his weapons. The gun and the knife melodically humming as they fit into his hand. The dark thing in his gut raising in attention. They all wanted blood, and blood they were going to get. He gathered two more knives, ones that he could easily lose if he had to, but knew that he would be favoring his hunter’s blade tonight.

He went to his room and put on the jacket he used to always wear when he went on hunts. It fit him like a second skin and instant he felt himself coming into being Dean the hunter. He shed away the domesticity, the tameness that married life had bred into him and brought up the black thing. With it rose a smile.

He left the house a dark and dangerous creature, teeth bared and knives sharpened, with his weapons heralding his coming to reclaim what was his.

           

He pulled up to the industrial park and stopped in front of the building where Cas was being held. Like the first time, the industrial park was barren and desolate, silently baking in the afternoon sun. The heat was beginning to sink into the Impala, making him sweat in his jacket, but he didn’t dare take it off. Beside him, his phone was in the empty passenger seat and ringing wildly.

His phone had started ringing about twenty minutes into the drive and hadn’t stopped once. When he looked on the caller ID he saw his little brother’s name reflected back at him and quickly dismissed the call. Despite Dean obviously ignoring his calls, Sam hadn’t given up yet and it was beginning to annoy him.

He didn’t need to hear his brother criticise him and his decisions anymore. He was his own man. He could make his own choices and fuck Sam if he didn’t agree with them. He pointedly looked out of the Impala’s front window to keep the phone out of his vision. He didn’t need this distraction.

He opened the car door and was about to slam it shut, but then risked a look back to the phone in the passenger seat. Sam was still calling him, the sound was on silent, but the display showed Sammy’s smiling face with the button to accept the call flashing. In a show of sentiment, Dean picked up the phone and slid it into his pocket, still ignoring it, but at least still having it with him.

Finally, he slammed the door shut. The sound echoed through the industrial park, bouncing between the walls created by the tight row of buildings. He did one last check of his weapons, running the sharp of the knife against the pad of his thumb and feeling the press of the gun’s trigger on his index finger.

The weapons chattered happily in his hands. Their singing was getting increasingly quick the closer he came to drawing blood. Instead of distracting him, like the ringing of the phone did, their melodies focused him in. They tunneled his vision, cut off thoughts about outside things and drew him onto the objective of his mission.

The world around him faded away. Colours dulled, but his hearing sharpened until he was able to pick up the distant chorus coming from the inside of the building. The tune was deep and low, echoing over and over itself in blue arpeggio. Any other time, he might have called it beautiful, but the music made him sick to his stomach and drew the black thing into fierce snarl.

Because the music was the magic that was holding Cas. He hadn’t been able to hear it before, he couldn’t hear magic without the connection to his weapons, but now it rang as loudly as a cathedral bell. It was the magic that was keeping Dean from saving Cas, effective as a knife held over his throat. Now though, with weapons that could break through the magic and counter against it, Dean could kill the witch.

And once the witch died, so did the spell.

Dean tensed in anticipation of the fight that was ahead. He gripped his weapons tight, feeling their weight and sureness ground him back into his mission. They called his name lovingly, their song licking his ear, encouraging him forward.

Dean began to move. His gait so slow, but sure as he stalked forward to the front door of the building. It was already open and gave easily to him. A bell even rang through the office announcing his presence. He didn’t care much for stealth, though. He expected that this mission would be messy, bloody, the way he liked it.

Suddenly, he heard a buzzing and a click come from his right. He turned and saw a blinking intercom machine attached to the wall. He narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if it was a threat or if it was harmless. His hands tensed around his weapons, their curves pressed into the pads of his fingers.

“Hello. Welcome to Anthem Regeneration Corporation. This is Sandra speaking, may I ask who is it?”

Dean grinned to himself, his teeth biting against his lip. He brought up a bit of domesticity and channeled concerned husband into his voice.

“Yes, hello? It’s Dean Winchester. I just want to see my husband. He had that incident yesterday and I’m so worried about him. Please can I see him?” he pleaded into the intercom. He strained his voice, gave it uncertainty, made it sound more like he was begging.

There was silence for a few seconds and then the woman’s voice entered the room again. “Hello Mr. Winchester. Yes, you will be able to see your husband today, please allow us about ten to fifteen minutes to set up a room and we can get you right to him.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” he said with a sigh, like huge weight had been taken of his chest. Inside him, the darkness turned and coiling around the bright part him that actually did feel lighter.

He waited in the little entrance room. His muscles were tensed, making it hard not to pace furiously. The weapons sung joyfully and that reminded Dean to slowly taper their voices. The woman running this place had to be some kind of witch. The evidence for that was circling in the room and filling Dean’s ear with a blue nocturne.

He connected to the weapons, making them sing his name up to him in sweet lilts. Then, he slowly pressed them to get quiet. His urged them into a faint hum, which could hardly be heard under the hypnotic tempo and melody of the surrounding magic. They grudgingly listened to him and stayed quiet.

With them dampened, Dean heard himself a little better. Everything that the weapons had drowned out with their song was slowly beginning of come back. The flow of it was almost enough to make Dean vomit, and he suddenly didn’t know which way to turn. The black thing was still digging its claws in and licking its teeth.

Goddamn, how did he ever…

Why did he ever-

Suddenly, there was a click from the door and the woman Sandra came in. Dean shoved everything he was feeling down and make himself give her his most winning smile. He couldn’t let himself be distracted, he told himself in a voice he didn’t recognize, he had a mission to do, a goal to accomplish.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester, we weren’t expecting to see you again for a little bit now.” She said as she readjusted the file in the crook of her arm. She got it secure, and then stuck out a hand to be shook in greeting.

Dean took it and returned the warm smile.

“I’m sorry for coming so suddenly. It’s just,” he purposefully trailed his voice off, “I’m just worried, you know? I want to see him.” He made his smile more tentative.

She didn’t let go of his hand immediately, but almost seemed like she had forgotten it. She was staring deep into his eyes, her brows slightly furrowed and smile dropping a little bit. It was so subtle that Dean might have missed it if he wasn’t so focused.

“Miss?” he questioned. His other arm tensed ready to grab one of the weapons that he had slipped into his waistband.

She looked like she wanted to say something, but then shook her head. She still had a bit of a confused look in her eye, but was obviously ignoring it.

“I’m sorry. I got a little distracted there. Why don’t we take you to your husband now?” she let go of his hand and then guided him out of the waiting room. She walked down the hallway leading to Cas with Dean stalking behind her.

They reached the room and the woman opened up the door to let both them in. It was an almost identically set up from the last time that Dean had seen Cas. Two empty chairs across from the one that Cas was sitting in. There was magic wafting about the room. The deep nocturne had changed into a tight, high aria and was so loud that Dean had a hard time not reacting to it. Quickly, he skated his eyes around the room, taking in that there were no cameras or other entrances except for the one door they had in through.

“You can take a seat here, Mr. Winchester,” the woman said, gesturing to the chair directly across from his husband.

The motion drew Dean’s eyes first to the piece of furniture, but then almost immediately to Castiel.

The sight of him, made Dean’s heart stutter in his chest and he couldn’t help suck in a quick breath. Cas, still beautiful, but now he could see the obvious signs of distress clearly written into his body. Make-up still painted him, twisted through his face like a line of sickness. There were deep bags under his eyes and his hair fell limply on his head. More than all that, though, he was skinny. So skinny and obvious that his body had begun to eat at itself in its starvation.

Slowly Cas met his eyes, and even through the darkness inside him, Dean couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him. Because this was Cas, his angel, and  those baby blue eyes, even through so much pain, were still filled with love. There wasn’t any of the betrayal or disgust that Dean had feared (what he deserved for leaving Cas in the first place) and instead was firm confidence.

This was what he had come to save.

“Mr. Winchester?” The woman’s voice came again, breaking Dean out of his own mind. He snapped his head up and decided that it was time.

Within a second, he dropped all pretenses. All the domesticity, the gentleness, and barely held back viciousness that was clawing to come out of him. He hardened in that moment, putting every ounce of hate into his eyes, his grimace, the movements that drew his weapons from their hiding place.

He brought them forward and let their melodies crash against the magic surrounding them. They screamed it delight, quickly overthrowing the orchestra already in the room and taking it as his. In him, the dark thing that had been twisting and coiling and howling, broke out. It spread out across face, into his eyes, through his soul.

He grinned cruelly, brandishing his singing weapons, feeling their excitement in his ear.

“Hello, dear.” He said, dripping the words from his throat. He paced in a wide circle around the room like a predator. A tiger circling a rabbit. A shark rounding on a drowning castaway.

The woman across from him had also lost all semblance of warmth. She was tense. Her heart was beating fast in her chest. Her eyes held a fear that Dean knew well.

“What is this.” She said, her voice struggling to keep itself steady. None of that could fool Dean though, he knew what facing death looked like. He knew that the woman was seeing it in him.

“This is a rescue mission.” He said simply with nonchalance and a shrug, reminding himself of his master. The woman flicked her eyes between him and the weapons that glittered wickedly in his hands. She looked back up into his face and he turned his lighter smile into dark snarl.

“You’re a hunter.” She said simply. She must have recognized the weapons, a familiar trademark of a trained hunter, and felt the way the dark magic from them was slowly tearing down her spells. “Why are you doing this? I’m a healer. I’m helping him.” She said firmly, like she actually believed that bullshit.

“You should have never taken what was mine.” He growled, coming closer. She flinched back immediately, but amazingly didn’t completely give up. He felt her spells struggling against the melodies of his weapons. They didn’t stand a chance, though, and were quickly choking out of existence, strangled underneath the sheer power of his weapons combined with his feriocity and raw emotion. He was dispelling them almost as fast as she was forcing them at him and eventually the barrage came to an end as she ran out of power.

“No,” she yelped, dropping her pitiful brave face when she was left defenseless. “You don’t understand. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to save you. I want to-“

She didn’t say another word, because in that moment. Dean brought the knife in his left-hand crashing through her throat, ripping apart the muscle and the life underneath it. She stuttered her last word. Her eyes flashed up to his and his face would be the last one for her to see. His smiling, triumphant, vicious face as her voice collapsed in on itself and her body shuddered to a holt. Her hands clawed at him in a pitiful attempt to fight back, but with a final death rattle, she slumped to the ground in a messy heap.

Dean stood over her, reveling in the rush of adrenaline that came with ending in a life. The sheer sense of being, for just one moment, a god among men. Her blood was sprayed across his face and chest, staining him in his power over another. His chest rose and fell with the remnants of her last breath. His blood rushed through his veins. His heart pumping it strongly even as another heart ceased.

Oh god, how had he missed this

Oh god, how had he _missed_ th-

“Dean?” Cas’ voice rang through the room, suddenly bringing Dean to a stop. His thoughts came to a screeching halt and the world froze. In almost slow-motion, he turned and saw his husband, the most glorious, beautiful thing in the world, slowly rising from his chair. He stepped gingerly across the room, looking like an angel gliding down from their lofty heights. He drew close to Dean and gently reached for his hands. He almost wanted to flinch, because suddenly, he didn’t want this perfect man to touch something as damned as he. But as those strong, graceful hands reached for him, Dean let them touch. He let him take his blood-stained hand and edge the weapons from his grip. He let him throw them away and listened to their siren voices fade. He let Cas, then, draw him close and calm the tension that danced across his muscles. His husband slid his hand up Dean’s back until it stopped at the nape of his neck and, then, guided his head to rest on Cas’ shoulder.

“Dean,” His husband whispered his name into the shell of his ear and a little part of him cracked inside. And with that crack, a little part of Dean that had been so tortured and traumatized by this last week, finally got some comfort. It stirred in him and the love settled in his chest.

“Cas,” his voice was shaking. He was shaking, from what he didn’t know. Cas hushed him, though, and voice like velvet. He wiped away the tears staining Dean’s cheeks. He hadn’t even known he had been crying.

They stood like that for a long time just the two of them relishing being back together. Their breath ghosting against each other’s skin, drying the blood spattered between them. Their hearts beating in time as a body cooled a few feet away. And despite all that, Dean felt the whole world was perfect, if only for a few seconds.

Eventually, but still too soon, Dean slowly drew away. Cas let him go, but not out of arms-reach. He grasped his hand, locking their fingers together and not daring to let them break apart.

“Cas,” he said again, his voice stronger this time.

“Hello Dean.”

The familiarity of the statement almost made him collapse all over again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too” Cas answered back, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

His husband smiled at that. A full grin that entirely filled his face and showed off every one of his pearly teeth. Dean couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and kissed Cas. His husband keened under him, practically moaning into it. Cas dipped his tongue into Dean’s mouth, licking hungrily at the edges of it. Dean shuddered at the movement, his knees growing weak under him. He broke the kiss, gasping for breath with lungs heaving. Cas kept them chest to chest, moving his kisses from Dean’s mouth to every bit of exposed skin he could find. He licked the flesh and Dean shivered when the cannibal’s teeth gently skirted over his throat.

“Oh shit,” he realized as his husband lapped at the blood sprayed across his body. “You’re starving, aren’t you?”

Cas froze against him like he didn’t realize what he had been doing. He drew away and looked up at Dean’s eyes. He moved his arms and laced them behind Dean’s neck “I’m sorry, but I’m so hungry and you taste so good.” He licked his lips as he said that last part, tongue flicking across each of his teeth.

“I didn’t save you just so you could eat me, Cas.” Dean said with a laugh. Cas narrowed his eyes at his husband and twisted his mouth into a small grimace.

“Don’t even joke about that. I would never do that to you.” The cannibal said seriously and affection flared in Dean’s chest.

“Of course, Cas, I know that.” He replied and gave his husband another much gentler kiss. Cas hummed at the movement and Dean felt the sound in his chest. Oh god, how he loved Cas’ deep, rumbly voice. Oh god, how he loved everything about Cas.

He reached into one of his pockets and got a switchblade that he had tucked into there earlier. He unveiled the blade and then offered it to his husband. Cas took the knife, but looked confused by it. 

Silently, Dean flicked his eyes over to the dead body a few feet away from them. The cannibal tracked the motion and his gaze landed on the corpse of the woman who had been keeping him captive. Dean watched a flicker of vengeance flare up in Cas’ eyes and the primal rage cross them.

His husband nodded and broke away from him to walk over and crouch by the body. Dean turned away and pulled out the phone that he had silenced in the car. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever seen Cas cut up a body or that it even particularly bothered him. In fact, when he was younger and darker, Dean relished seeing his strong, wild husband take exactly what he needed.

He knew that he should talk to Sam, though, and let him know that he was alive and Cas was safe. He opened up the phone and saw that Sam had called him fifteen times. Immediately, a strong sense of guilt settled in his stomach. Sam was probably worried sick for him and Cas. He might even think that both of them were dead. He really shouldn’t have left so suddenly or so recklessly, but in that moment with his family angry at him and the dark thing inside of him singing so sweetly, he couldn’t resist.

He dialed Sam’s number and his little brother picked up on the first ring. “Dean, are you alright?” His voice was filled with worry and had a frantic edge to it.

“Geez, Sam, calm down.” He scoffed into the phone, even though he knew that his brother was totally justified in his worry.

“No, you don’t get to tell me to calm down. You just vanished Dean! Me and Jess left for maybe ten minutes and when we came back you were gone. And then you didn’t answer your phone, we were so worried.” Sam said quickly his voice getting higher pitched the longer he spoke.

“I know, Sam, I know.” Dean mumbled into the phone, “It’s all okay now, though. I’m fine. Cas is fine. We are going to be okay.”

“Oh God, I didn’t even ask about Cas. How is he? Is he hurt?”

Dean glanced at his husband who was still enjoying his meal. His hands and the knife were bloody and Dean watched him stick a little cube of meat into his mouth and chew happily.

Damn, how the hell did Cas make eating people look cute?

“He’s a little roughed up, but nothing serious. He’ll be fine with a bit of time.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh and sounded like he just had the world lifted from his shoulders.  “Good, good, I’m so glad.” He gave a breathy little laugh, “I’m so happy about that Dean.”

Dean smiled, not taking his eyes off of Cas who was finishing up his meal. Cas groaned and rubbed his stomach.

“I’m really happy too, Sam.” He said, hearing the joy in his own voice.

Sam laughed again. “You stay there, Dean. Me and Jess are almost to the warehouse. We want to see Cas.”

 “Ok, we’ll be waiting.” Dean chirped and hung up the phone as he and Sam said goodbye to each other. He slipped the phone into his pocket and focused back of Cas who was still sitting on the floor.

“Sam’s coming here. He wants to see you.” He said to his husband as he walked over to him. He paused over the cannibal and the corpse.

Cas met his eyes and gave Dean a small smile. “I think I ate too much.” He said.

“I can see that,” Dean said and he flitted his eyes to the body that was now in multiple pieces. “But, I for one, think that you deserved it.”

At the words, Cas’ face fell and he slid his gaze to the ground. His whole body posture changed and Dean watched his husband curl in on himself more.

“Hey Cas, what’s wrong?”

“I was so scared, Dean, so scared.” He mumbled and he reached for Dean, his arms out like a child. Dean quickly rushed over to his husband, lifting him from the floor and gathering him in his arms. He held him close, hushing him with sweet nothings, desperate to chase away the dark memories.

Cas whimpered against his chest, a sound that Dean never wanted to hear again out of his wild, untamable beloved. “I thought that maybe I wouldn’t see you again. Maybe I wouldn’t be strong enough and I’d…” His voice choked and tapered.

“Hush Cas,” Dean whispered, “Of course you’re strong enough, you’re the strongest person I know. I mean, you’ve put up with me for all these years.” Cas snorted in his arms. Not the full laugh that he was hoping for, but it was a reassuring sound.

“Thank god I got stuck with you, Dean Winchester.” Cas said and he kissed him softly and tenderly. An “I love you” in manifest.

“Thank god, I got stuck with you too.” Dean repeated when they broke the kiss, neither of them strayed from each other, though, or even wanted to. He looked deep into Cas’ eyes, seeing the endlessness captured in them, the fierce vibrancy of life that could never be tarnished. He saw everything that he had fell in love with and the things he had yet to discover. Castiel was so strong, how could his husband ever think that he wasn’t?

 “Are you going to be alright?” he asked because he needed to hear the words from his husband’s lips.

Cas gave a heavy sigh and looked back towards the corpse and the chair he had been trapped in. “I will be. I’ll be okay.” His gaze lingered on the body, Dean could see the haunting behind them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He urged his husband. The cannibal turned his face back into Dean’s chest and then nodded into it. Dean waited and then slowly Cas’ rumbling voice filled the space around them.

“I had forgotten my lunch, so I was picking up something from a convience store before I went into the hospital. She attacked me from behind, and I didn’t even have a second to react before she was putting spells on me. I next thing I know I’m being stuffed into a van and taken here.

She was set on making me fully human. She had this idea that all it would take was a full blood transfusion and weaning me off the meat. She always told me that it was to make me better, even though I begged her not to and I told her that I was happy with my life. She lied to me too. Told me that you had requested me to go into this program or that you couldn’t stand having a monster for a husband.”

Dean opened his mouth to snap at the comment and to reassure Cas. His husband just shushed him, though. “Quiet Dean, I know you don’t think those things. I knew she was lying.” He fell silent, but then started talking after a few moments, “I think the saddest part, though, was that she really believed that she was helping me. She kept saying that all the pain was for my own good and she really believed it. She kept telling me about her husband, an incubus, who had hated his supernatural blood and died thinking himself a monster. She kept saying that she didn’t want anyone else to think of themselves like that.”

Cas suddenly leaned heavily on Dean like his strings had been cut, apparently done with talking. He moved his face into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathed in deeply. Dean didn’t say anything and let his husband hold on as tightly as he needed to.

“I want to go home.” Cas whispered into his skin and the pain in the request nearly broke Dean’s heart.

“Of course, Cas. Sam should be here now. We’re going to get you home.” He moved out of Cas’ grasp and gently began leading the cannibal away from the scene. He grabbed the weapons he had brought into the room with him, completely ignoring their songs. Cas was so much stronger than any tune they could tempt him with.

He led Cas outside and emerged from the building. Immediately when they were outside, his husband took a grateful breath and instantly looked more relaxed to be away from that hellhole. Dean couldn’t blame him and vowed that Cas would never have to see this place again. He would burn it to the ground if he had too.

When they reached outside, they also saw that Sam’s car was parked next to the Impala with both Sam and Jess outside. When the couple saw Cas and Dean, his little brother shut the car off and practically bounded out of it. He quickly came to them and scooped Dean and Cas both into a hug with his dopey Sam arms. Dean found himself squished tightly into his little brother’s chest and having every ounce of air squeezed out of him. Cas made this adorable sounding squeak at the sudden pressure and kept reassuring Sam that “yes, I’m fine”, “yes, I’m alright”, “Sam, I need oxygen” while his brother babbled on. Even the tight press of his brother’s arms couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out of him.

Once Sam put them down, Cas were immediately swallowed by another hug, albeit this one much gentler and softer. Jess wrapped her arms around Cas’ waist, completely ignoring the blood staining his shirt, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so happy to see you Cas,” she murmured, “I’m so glad that you’re coming back home.”

Cas couldn’t agree more and told her that. Eventually, Jess let him go and then she immediately moved on to Dean to wrap him into a hug. He was surprised by the sheer amount of force behind the movement. All the affection that the woman poured into it and the way that she smelled like warmth and family.

“Hey Jess,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling into her hair. She laughed at the simple sentence.

“Hi Dean,” She replied, “I’m so glad you’re safe, both of you. I can’t say that enough.” She paused and then chuckled again, “I think I’m repeating myself.”

Dean answered her with his own laugh. “Yeah, I get you. I think I’m doing it too. I can’t help it, though, I’m so damn happy.” She nodded against him until she leaned up and placed a soft kiss against his forehead.

“Good. That’s good, Dean.” she said in her honey-golden voice and then she drew away. “Why don’t we all go home now?” She suggested.

Cas instantly jumped at the comment and already began looking to the Impala. “Yes, please.” He said the relief in his voice clearly evident. Sam and Jess also began moving back to their car, until Dean got Jess’ attention.

“Uh, Jess?”

She turned immediately, “Yeah, Dean?”

“Do you think that maybe you could clear the building?” he asked, “There’s a dead body in there and eventually someone is going to find it. I don’t want the police to come knocking on our door when they find it and a lot of Cas’ DNA.”

“Oh yes, of course.” She said and she turned fully towards the building. She raised an arm and immediately the air around them grew a bit heavier. Dean could hear a little bit of the magic’s tune, an aftereffect of being connected to his weapons only an hour ago, but it was faded like a memory. There was a sudden snap, audible even to him, and the air grew lighter again.

“There,” she said, relaxing again. “Yours and Cas’ evidence is wiped from the place. I can’t do anything about the body without the proper preparations, but at least you to cannot be connected to the crime, so that should be fine.” The woman turned to face them again, with a hand on her hip defiantly stuck out.

“Now enough of this. Let’s get our little cannibal home.”


	14. Chapter 14

Cas’ homecoming was much more subdued than his kidnapping and Dean was very glad for it. He wasn’t sure how much more stress he could take, not with how tightly strung his nerves were this last week. His husband, though, acted like a balm. He soothed Dean’s frayed mind every time he set his eyes upon him. Every time he touched him, it was a promise that he wasn’t going anywhere, that Dean wasn’t just imagining it, that his husband was wonderfully and truly safe.

When they finally pulled into the driveway and got Cas into the house, Dean immediately set himself on treating his husband’s wounds and easing the pain from his body. Cas, as stubborn as ever, insisted that he was fine and that Dean didn’t need to keep “mother-henning” over him. He didn’t stop Dean from leading him into the bathroom and sitting him down on the toilet so Dean could begin applying Band-Aids, balms and anti-biotics. At some point, Cas must have realized that Dean needed to take care of him as much as Cas needed to be taken care of, so he kept quiet and let Dean plaster him in his favorite bee-printed band-aids.

After Dean was satisfied with his medical care, he began guiding Cas to bed and insisting that he rest. He skittered around the cannibal, pushing him gently against his lower back in the direction of their bedroom, Again Cas, complained about it (even as his eyelids were drooping), they eventually compromised and agreed that Cas would nap until dinner and then Dean would wake him for the meal so he could eat with his family

Once Cas was asleep, Dean came back down the stairs and into the living room where Sam and Jess were. They were huddled together on the couch, both of them leaning into each other. Dean couldn’t shake the way that they looked like refuges and it reminded him that this week had been just as harrowing for them too. They were just as stressed, just as tired and just as relieved to know Cas was safe. The thought filled Dean with warmth, because that was what family feels like and he could never want it any other way.

Dean cleared his throat softly and Sam instantly looked up with the sound, his face brightened and gentle with affection.

“Is he asleep?” he asked in a whisper even though Cas was far away. It just felt right like a sound too loud would break the reality.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “went out like a light even though the he complained the whole way there.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Sometimes I think that I married a toddler.”

Sam huffed a laugh and the room descended into comfortable quiet. Dean moved to sit down in the loveseat across from the couple. Outside, it was sunset and the warm colours of the evening filled the house with a yellow light. Dean thought it was fitting, a beautiful scene to bring what had been the worst week of his life to a close. It’s funny how life can be so ironically poetic at times.

Dean didn’t know how long they had been sitting there. He and his brother talked a little, just on simple, light, mindless topics, but mostly just enjoyed being near to each other. After hours and days of their family being twisted apart, they were content to just be whole again. At some point, Jess had gotten up and made herself a tea. The room filled with the gentle clinks of her spoon against the mug until Jess spoke up.

“Dean, what are you going to do?”

He froze because he knew exactly what Jess meant. It was something that he had been desperately been trying to ignore even though it crept darkly through the back of his mind. He had made a deal with Alastair, ten years starting tonight. He had agreed for those very years to begin tonight. In a few hours, he would have to leave Cas.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice quiet and afraid. Almost afraid to voice it because it would made the situation all the more real. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell him. I’ll break his heart.”

“Tell me what?” A voice suddenly shot through the room and made everyone freeze. Dean whipped around and saw his husband standing at the top of the stairs clutching a blanket to his chest. He looked ethereal like an angel, white blanket draped across his body, light behind him streaming down. But his face was pale, marring the beautiful vision, and Dean could see clear terror beginning to form on his face. “What, Dean, tell me what?” He demanded with a tremor.

Dean swallowed and suddenly couldn’t keep his eyes on Cas, almost like his very gaze didn’t deserve to see him. He looked to the ground, praying that it would swallow him up in that moment, just so he didn’t have to see the betrayal on his husband’s face.

“Dean, tell me what?” Cas’ voice came again, still from the top of the stairs. It was small and scared and hurt more than any blow ever could. It drew Dean’s eyes up from the floor and he steeled himself to confess.

He met his husband’s eyes. They were wide and pure and so full of trust. They broke Dean and he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so sorry.” He said, hearing his own words come out shaky.

Cas only looked more terrified now, and he began descending the stairs. The blanket billowed around him. His feet were bare. His hands were close to his chest clutching the blanket to keep it from falling around him. “Dean, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” The words broke his heart and pain flared in his chest, echoing through his ribs.

“I made a deal with Alastair.” He mumbled into the night and Cas gave a sharp gasp that clashed against his ear.

“What?”

“I made a deal with Alastair. To get my weapons back, so I could save you.”

There was silence, and then suddenly a pained sound came out of Cas. It was quiet, so quiet that Dean almost missed it, but it sent him immediately rushing to his husband. When he came into arms-length, Cas reached out and gripped him, holding on to him with all his strength. If Dean wasn’t holding him, he was sure that his husband would have crumpled to the ground in a trembling pile.

“The price.” Cas suddenly demanded, tightening his grip on Dean’s shoulder to the point of pain.  His eyes were locked on Dean’s and were flared wide with a horror that he had never seen in Cas. “What was the price?” He repeated, practically yelling.

“Ten years.” Dean said, ashamed with himself and terrified of what he was doing to his husband. Inside he felt his heart, breaking and shattering, the pieces of it raining down his ribcage.

Another strangled sound came out of Cas, this time muffled by Dean’s chest. He felt his shirt becoming wet as Cas’ tear dripped into the fabric. It stuck against his skin like a tattoo. Gently, he pulled both of them down to sit on the stairs, and Cas curled immediately into him. He held Dean with all his strength, as if he could keep him here through sheer force of will.

Dean held just as tightly, wrapping his love in his arms and feeling his heart beating rapidly against his. Pain sliced through him and he felt himself trembling. Every part of him ached, his heartbreak turned physical and the only thing keeping him from breaking was the man in his arms.

He dared to look up and saw his brother and his sister-in-law both with tears on their face. He watched Sam rise from his seat and slowly take Jess’ hand, guiding her from the room. Her eyes, though, didn’t leave him and Cas and Dean saw his own misery reflected in them.

When they were gone, he turned back to Castiel and held the man even tighter. He wasn’t letting Cas out of his arms even for one second.

 

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, curled up on each other on the stairs. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. They probably would have stayed like that for the entire night too, if a knock didn’t come from the front door.

The sound was so strange, infringing on the silence and the sound of the couple’s pain. It was alien in the hurt landscape of Dean’s mind. He rose his head when it sounded, but didn’t move an inch away from Castiel. His husband’s grip on him tightened and dug into his waist.

Dean stared at the door and then heard his footsteps come from a different part of the house. He recognized his little brother’s long stride and loping gait. Within a few moment, he came into view. His head was bowed and he looked smaller than what should be even physically possible. He took careful steps, like he was afraid of where he was going. As he crossed the stairs, Sam dared a look at him and Cas and Dean saw pain in his brother’s eyes. Because tonight he also would lose a loved one, his big brother.

Sam came to the door and looked through the peephole. Dean watching a jolt of surprise run through his body, and then him debating with himself. After a moment, he moved again and slowly opened the door.

At the noise, Cas shifted and rose his head to look at who was coming in. He leaned back heavily against Dean, practically curled on him lap. The sight of his husband’s face, red, puffy and pain-stricken, broke Dean’s heart all over again. He wasn’t sure how many times a heart could break in one night. He knew he was staring, but suddenly he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cas and he heard the guests rather than saw them come in.

Dean’s parents rarely came quietly into a house. They didn’t need to, not after so many years of life. They always made a statement. His mom with a burst or a crash, a golden nightmare or dream, depending on how she was feeling. His father gliding behind her, slower, but steady like the incoming tide.

But this time, they carefully came in, both as quiet as the grave. Neither of them said much, except for a small greeting exchanged with Sam who was warily guarding the door. He was uneasy and unsure of what to so, but didn’t stop them as they turned towards him and Cas. His mom’s eyes must have settled on them first and Dean heard a sharp gasp come from her.

He looked up, and saw her beautiful face, golden and young and marbled with sorrow. Her pale hand had come up and was covering her mouth. Slowly, he saw gleaming tears begin to run down her face and drip off her cheeks.

“Oh Dean, Cas” She whispered their names like a prayer and the sound floated in the air. She glided over to them, her steps silent as she drew in. She paused right before she was about to sit down and her eyes raised up to her son’s. Wordlessly, she searched his face and asked for permission. He granted it with a small nod. She settled right next to them on the stairs and draped her arms around them both.

Cas shuddered at the touch and whimpered again. The sound was tortured and wretched, unnatural in Cas’ throat. He pressed his face back into Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel his husband’s sobs wracking his body so violently that they almost became his own. Mary began rubbing up and down Cas’ back soothingly and Dean felt Cas accepting the touch, settling a bit.

Dean turned his head to look into his mother’s eyes, unsure of what he would find there. Would he see novelty? Veiled-amusement? His mother watching him in the same way that someone watches a movie?

When he finally met her eyes, though, all he could see was the pain in them, the raw concern and the fierce over-arching love for him. He stunned him and he was sickened with himself about just how wrong he was for thinking those things about his mother. Her care was evident in the lines of her face, the tears that she was crying for him. Her hand came up and gently brushed over his head, drawing across his temple. He couldn’t help leaning in and letting himself be comforted by his mother’s touch. He shifted in her arms, and braced his head against her shoulder. He breathed in deeply, smelling her, for once, she smelled like home and family.

She hushed him and used her hand to run her fingers through his hair. “It’s alright, Dean, everything will be alright.”

Dean couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help the anger that rose with those words, shattering the little peace he had built up. Because it wasn’t alright. Nothing was all right. This was all going to fucking shit because of him. It wasn’t alright. It wasn’t.

And he said so.

“No, mom.” His voice was pained and angry. “It’s not alright. It’s not and it’s all my fault. It’s all my goddamn fault.” He was yelling, but he couldn’t hold back. Not with all the pain he felt and all the guilt pent up in him. He felt too raw to fool himself into thinking that everything was alright.

“No, Dean.” His mother’s voice was sure and didn’t flinch at his anger. “It will be alright because you’re not going to become Alastair’s again.”

Dean froze. He thought his heart stopped in his chest for a second. His breath was knocked out of him and he couldn’t believe it. Against him, he felt Cas also still, but then slowly lift himself off Dean to look at Mary also.

Dean wanted to question because how? But he couldn’t find his voice. Cas found his though.

“What?” The word was shaky through his sob-wracking throat. “How?”

Mary’s face softened and there was so much love in it that Dean couldn’t believe it. All his life, he had felt like a thing to Mary, like something that she had move on from long ago. But now, with all the love in her eyes, he couldn’t believe that he had every felt like that before.

“You’re not the only one who can strike a deal with Alastair.” She said in her honey voice.

Dean found his voice then. “I don’t, I don’t understand.”

John coughed drawing everyone’s attention. He was standing firmly in the front hallway with his hands in his pockets. He still looked heavy, with the weight of the world firmly across his shoulders, but maybe, just maybe, he was a little lighter.

“We took your debt, Dean.” He said, his voice gruff even through youth. “Me and Mary both. We’re going to do your ten years, so you can stay where you belong.”

The words repeated in Dean’s head. Over and over again, but no matter how many times he thought it he couldn’t believe it.

“But, but why?” He stuttered in disbelief.

His father looked confused and narrowed his eyes at Dean. Instantly, Dean felt shame and drew his gaze away. Old habits die hard, and he was very used to his father’s disapproval.

“Because we love you,” His father’s voice cut through Dean’s shame and brought him immediately back to the present. “You are our son. We would do anything for you.”  Then he huffed a laugh, “Anyways, ten years for you is much more expensive than ten years for us.”

Dean was crying again. He could feel the tears dripping on his cheeks, but these were much happier. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it.

But he did.

Gently, he tore himself away from Cas and his husband let him go. He rose on shaky legs, but then steadier them under him. He came towards his father and, for the first time in years, hugged him.

At first, John was stiff in his arms, but then he gradually accepted the touch. He wrapped his arms around Dean and squeezed him tight.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Dean repeated because that was the only thing he could say.

“You’re welcome, Dean.” His dad whispered into his ear and it drew another thankful sob of happiness from Dean. Then he felt, another set of arms around him. His mother, he realized.

“Thank you, thank you.” He said to her too.

“Oh Dean,” she said, “you don’t have to thank us. You’re family. That’s what family does for each other. Good things do happen”

And for the first time in hours, he let himself smile. A full smile, one that was happy and free and so full of thankfulness that he himself couldn’t believe.

After another few minutes, the group hug broke apart and Dean couldn’t help turning back to Cas. His husband was smiling softly at him, still standing on the stairs, watching the family come together.

Dean walked over to him, unresistingly drawn to him, and gathered him in his arms. He kissed him, slow and soft and sweet and felt his husband melt into him. He broke the kiss and leaned their foreheads together.

“I’m staying, Cas. I’m staying right here and I’m never going to leave you.”

 

THE END

 


End file.
